


Patterns Repeating

by AmberBrown



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Child Abandonment, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Series, Torture, previous sexual encounter mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:33:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25286167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmberBrown/pseuds/AmberBrown
Summary: ' Aramis opened his eyes, he smiled, he was not in his own bed in the garrison. He was in what looked like an expensive room. He tried to remember which of his mistresses he was with, but he did not recognise the room. He furrowed his brow and tried to work out where he was. The more he thought about it the more he realised he did not remember the previous evening. 'The Musketeers investigate some bizarre attacks. Can they catch the culprit before they strike again?
Comments: 24
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story mentions one of my other stories; 'Point of View' a few times, but you do not need to have read it. (But I won't stop you if you want to).
> 
> This started out as a general Aramis whump piece but ended up being a police procedural. - not sure what happened.
> 
> It is finished and chapters will be posted daily, real life permitting.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it.

Aramis opened his eyes, he smiled, he was not in his own bed in the garrison. He was in what looked like an expensive room. He tried to remember which of his mistresses he was with, but he did not recognise the room. He furrowed his brow and tried to work out where he was. The more he thought about it the more he realised he did not remember the previous evening. 

It was not the first time he had woken in a stranger's bed with no recollection of getting there. The first time had been a bit awkward as the somewhat ugly man he was in bed with was still sleeping. Aramis could not understand what had possessed him to go off with the man. He wondered if the man had thought he was selling himself. After that Aramis would make it quite clear to the men, he was trying to bed, that he was not interested in money, only them. The second time it had happened he had woken with a creepy man that had some strange ideas about what was sexy. Aramis had made his excuses and left both times. Wondering how he had allowed himself to get into the situation in the first place. To allow himself to be vulnerable enough to not remember the previous evening had been remiss of him. He had made a conscious effort from then on to never drink much when he went to the tavern to find men to sleep with. He kept his wits about him and was able to enjoy each encounter. 

Which made his current situation somewhat worrisome. He turned his head slowly to look for the man he had gone to bed with. He found no one else in the bed. He looked around the room that he guessed was a good quality hotel. It was empty. Slowly he pushed himself up to sit. He was naked, not even covered with a blanket. His clothes were piled haphazardly on a bench at the bottom of the big bed. 

Stepping off the bed proved difficult. His legs would not support him for a few seconds, he felt generally weak, but his head was clear. He did not feel as though he had drunk a lot, he just had no memory of the previous evening. His body was stiff, his back was uncomfortable and the back of his neck hurt. He guessed he had slept awkwardly or whatever he got up to with his mystery partner for the night was energetic. It would certainly explain his general feeling of lethargy and the aches and pains. 

Slowly he dressed, looking around the room as he did so for any clue to the man he had been with. He tried to remember if he had actually had sex or if he had enjoyed himself in other ways with the man.

The lack of memories annoyed him. He had let his guard down, left himself vulnerable, something a soldier should not do. 

Pulling his shirt on was difficult, the twisting and turning pulled at his aching neck and back. Ruefully he realised he would have to hide the pain he was in; he could not explain what had happened to anyone. He knew Athos would not approve of his actions. His friend had been mortified when they had ended up in bed together after they had been drinking. Athos had inadvertently hurt him and felt that he had forced himself on to Aramis. It had taken a lot of persuasion on Aramis’ part to get Athos to accept that what they had partaken in was consensual. 

Aramis quietly opened the door and peered out into the corridor. He was in a hotel, not one that he recognised, at least not from inside. The sun was only just starting to cast enough light for him to see easily. He crept along the corridor to the stairway. A young boy was sleeping in a corner of the hallway below him, waiting to open the door to the guests. The boy was well dressed, Aramis guessed the hotel was more expensive than he had first thought.

He knew the boy by the door was likely a light sleeper and he did not want to alert the owner of the hotel to his presence. Most hotels and boarding houses had rules preventing visitors to patrons’ rooms. Aramis did not want to draw attention to himself. 

He retreated along the corridor, looking closely at each door as he passed it. One was plain compared to the others. Aramis cautiously opened it and looked inside. He smiled a second staircase. The servant's stairs led to another hallway, a plain one with a door leading to the back of the hotel. Thankful that no one had found him Aramis slipped out of the back door. 

A small kitchen garden and space for hanging washing led to a high wall with a heavy-looking gate blocking his way. Aramis tried the latch on the gate, it was locked. He looked at the wall which was a little higher than he could easily scale. Not wanting to waste time, Aramis started to search the courtyard. He found an old crate which was being used to store various brooms and gardening equipment. Aramis glanced at the hotel windows for a few seconds to ensure he was not being observed. He emptied the crate and dragged it across the yard. The noise sounded loud to Aramis, but he knew it was not. The guests and staff would not hear the noise over the other general morning sounds. When he reached the wall, he tipped the crate onto its side and stepped up onto it. He could feel the uncomfortable pull on his back as he did so. 

He wondered if whatever he had got up to the previous night had been energetic. Had he been pushed into a wall as he and his unknown partner entertained one another. He knew he liked to pick men of his own height and build, it made for a well-matched liaison. Perhaps his enjoyment of being dominated had got a bit out of hand. Perhaps that explained why the man had left. Had the man been embarrassed?

Aramis hauled himself over the wall and dropped down to the street below. No one was around. He smiled for the first time since he had woken. Free of the hotel he could finally get back to the garrison. With luck, no one else would be any the wiser to his ill-advised night out with a stranger. 

MMMM

Muster had been uneventful, Treville had sent the men off on their duties. The previous night had been one that Athos had enjoyed. Thoughts of her had been few. The only times she had come to the forefront of his mind the good company and wine had seen them off. Porthos and Aramis had, as always, kept him entertained. Aramis had tried to school Porthos in the art of seduction before being shown by his friend that there were no issues in that area. The Musketeer had managed to charm the newest of the serving girls without even trying. 

The last Athos had seen of his friends that night had been watching them wander off in different directions. Porthos slipped around to the back of the tavern to meet the serving girl. Aramis had walked off towards one of the taverns where he met men. 

Athos had known his friend's intentions when they had left the garrison. Aramis had removed his uniform and was only carrying minimal weapons. It annoyed Athos that his friend could not be open about his lifestyle. But it was frowned upon and illegal. Dicing with death was not how Athos would like to spend an evening. Aramis was careful, a few times he had returned to the garrison early having been alert to Red Guard patrols in the area. He had not wanted to take the risk of being caught. 

As they wandered away from the garrison courtyard after muster Athos watched Aramis. Aramis had seemed oddly quiet. Athos wondered if something had happened to his friend the previous night. They never talked about the people they sought companionship from. But Athos' curiosity was piqued by his friend's behaviour.

Aramis wandered towards the stables, one of the stable boys ran out, chasing a stray dog from the garrison. The boy was not paying attention to his surroundings, more interested in getting rid of the dog. Aramis was forced to move aside, he stumbled slightly and reached out to steady himself. Athos was surprised to see his friend wince as he moved quickly. Concerned, Athos followed Aramis into the stable. 

The horses snorted and a couple pawed at the ground as Athos entered the dimly lit stable. The beasts were probably reacting to the intrusion of the dog and the stable boy having to chase it away. Aramis was at the back of the stables checking the tack and his saddlebags. Neither of which he had used for several days. 

‘Are you alright?’ asked Athos quietly. 

He saw no point in dancing around the subject, he was concerned about his friend.

Aramis turned and looked at him, his brow furrowed. 

‘You seem to be carrying yourself awkwardly as if you are hurt,’ explained Athos.

Aramis tried to keep his expression neutral but did not do a particularly good job. 

‘I slept awkwardly. Bit stiff, that’s all. Once I’ve walked about a bit it will ease off… but thank you for your concern, I didn’t know you cared.’

Aramis affected one of his cheeky grins, but Athos was not convinced it was genuine. As Aramis went back to his work checking the tack Athos turned to his horse and stroked his muzzle. He whispered a few words to the beast. He glanced back at Aramis in time to see him rolling his shoulders and trying not to hiss in pain. He looked away before Aramis realised, he was being watched. Athos knew his friend had every right to keep things private. But when they affected his work it was not a private issue anymore. What annoyed Athos was that Aramis was going to let it compromise his work. Which could have consequences for other people. 

Athos stepped towards Aramis again. Aramis turned towards him and looked at him with confusion. 

‘You are not alright, Aramis,’ said Athos. 

‘I’m fine,’ replied Aramis with a hint of annoyance, ‘I told you I slept-’

Athos did not give his friend a chance to respond. He grabbed Aramis by the shoulders and pushed him firmly into the wall of the stable. He intended to give his friend a telling off for having too much of a good time the night before. Too much alcohol before a day of work was never a good thing, Athos knew from experience. 

The reaction he got from Aramis was not what he was expecting. Aramis tensed up for a few seconds a look of real pain on his face before he slumped forward. Athos was forced to hold Aramis steady several seconds before he recovered enough to support himself. 

‘Aramis? I’m sorry, I thought it was not too bad… Aramis?’

His friend was staring into the distance, a vacant look on his face. He remained still for several seconds before looking at him.

‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I didn’t think it was that bad either… I’m sure it will be fine though… good job I’m not on sentry duty…’

He affected the grin again; Athos sighed and shook his head. 

‘If you let me have a look at your back, I won’t tell Treville.’

Aramis stepped away and glared at Athos who could understand his annoyance. 

‘I told you I’m fine,’ he said firmly. 

‘And I am thinking about the garrison and not just of you,’ replied Athos, although he was only partly telling the truth.

Aramis looked away for a few seconds before nodding and walking off. Athos followed him to the infirmary where they could at least have some privacy. Aramis pushed his way into the large airy room. Athos nodded a greeting to the doctor that was busy packing away his equipment. 

They had heard the stifled cries of pain as the cadet had been given his stitches during muster. A sparring session had become a bit rough. It had resulted in one cadet being confined to his room and another with an unwelcome trip to the infirmary. As the wound had been a bit much for Aramis or the other field medics to deal with, a doctor had been called. The injured cadet had been taken back to his room after the stitches were finished. Treville had said he would consider a suitable punishment for the pair once he had dealt with his paperwork. Although the wait in their rooms would probably be enough of a punishment. 

‘Something I can help with?’ asked the doctor, a tall man of a similar age to themselves.

‘No, monsieur,’ Aramis said, ‘I just need to prove to my friend that I have nothing more than a strained muscle in my back from sleeping badly last night.’

The doctor nodded and went back to tidying his things, Athos glanced at him and gestured for him to wait. The doctor nodded subtly. 

Aramis pulled off his weapons belts doing his best to hide the pain. His actions were a little slower than usual. Calculated to avoid any unnecessary movement. Athos stepped closer to help him shrug out of his doublet causing Aramis to give him a piercing glare. Athos stepped back. 

The doublet was draped over a chair with Aramis’ weapons. He untucked his shirt and pulled it over his head. He did not bother to remove the garment completely; he turned his back to Athos.

‘You see,’ he said, ‘I’m fine. It’s a strain. It will get better-’

‘Aramis,’ said the doctor, ‘you’re not fine. Your back… it’s…’

‘What?’ said Aramis, unable to hide how annoyed he was. 

Athos guided Aramis towards a mirror that was hanging on the wall. He turned his friend so that his back was towards the mirror and indicated for him to look. Athos watched Aramis’ face as he took in the scratches that covered his back. None were deep, only a few trickles of blood were evident. Intricate lines were drawn across his skin. The lines went from his shoulders to below the top of his breeches, they were across his whole back. The pattern had been inflicted with precision and care. The curves were gentle, the points where the lines met were crisp. Athos found it hard to believe Aramis would have allowed someone to do what they had done. 

Athos gently eased the shirt away from Aramis who looked very confused.

‘You didn’t know about that?’ asked the doctor.

Aramis looked at the doctor for a few seconds, ‘of course I didn’t know about it,’ he said, unable to hide the annoyance in his voice.

‘How did it happen?’ the doctor shook his head. ‘Sorry, you obviously don’t know that. I need to see the rest of the scratches.’

The doctor glanced at Aramis’ breeches. Athos felt sorry for his friend as he reluctantly undid the buttons, trying not to look at either of them. He was forced to undo his braies in order to push both down a few inches. He turned away from them both, his head bowed slightly, his shoulders slumped. 

The scratches continued across Aramis’ buttocks. Athos could understand why his friend had been walking carefully. The injuries were minor and would probably heal without leaving him scarred. At least not scarred permanently. Any movement, however, would have pulled on the scratches and caused him pain. 

As the doctor traced one of the scratches with his finger Aramis tried to hide a look of alarm. The touch was light. Athos guessed the curious doctor was trying to work out what had been used to scratch his friend. Athos watched Aramis' expression turn from alarm to the haunted look of someone remembering something. Or perhaps not quite remembering something. The doctor, oblivious to the reaction he was causing, continued to trace the scratches down Aramis' back and passed his waist. Athos had to react quickly when Aramis spun around, arm raised, hand fisted. Athos grabbed his friend's wrist and pushed him back several steps until he was leaning against the table. 

‘Sorry,’ said the doctor. ‘Did I hurt you?’

Aramis shook his head and turned away, his breathing fast. His hands were shaking as he tied his braies and buttoned his breeches. Athos handed him his shirt and helped him to pull it back down.

‘You say you don’t know how this happened to you,’ said the doctor, ‘do you remember anything? Do you think you’ve been hurt in any… another way?’

They all knew what the doctor was implying. Aramis’ reaction to being touched indicated he had experienced some form of trauma. 

‘No,’ said Aramis with a decisive shake of his head, ‘nothing happened. I don’t… nothing happened.’

Athos looked at the doctor who shrugged. Either Aramis did not want to talk about whatever had happened to him or he genuinely had no memory. Athos crossed the room and opened the door for the doctor.

‘Keep an eye on him,’ the doctor said quietly.

Athos nodded. 

‘I can be spoken to confidentially. If he needs someone,’ the doctor glanced at Aramis who was slowly doing the buttons on his doublet up.

‘Thank you,’ said Athos. ‘I will come to you if needs be.’

The thought that Aramis might have been sexually assaulted horrified Athos. The fact that his friend had no recollection of what happened was equally horrific. Aramis was gregarious. He liked to be the centre of attention, always pushing the boundaries. He had spent months trying to get Athos into bed with him. Aramis was the opposite of Athos. Athos liked to sit and be contemplative. Always one drink away from disappearing into a maudlin hole of self-pity and recrimination. 

Athos looked at his friend after he had seen the doctor out. Aramis had a haunted expression, he looked almost close to tears. The shock of what had happened, and what might have happened, seemed to have affected Aramis more than Athos could comprehend. Aramis often put himself in dangerous situations, either whilst soldiering, or during his off-duty hours. But there was always control to the danger. There was always a way out. Had he left himself exposed, vulnerable, in some way? Had some unfortunate moment of distraction been the undoing of the man who was always the most friendly and charming at any gathering? 

Aramis was standing staring out of the window of the infirmary. Looking across the garrison yard, lost in thought. A few of the cadets had started to spar. Athos could hear some of the commissioned men giving them instruction and encouragement. 

‘You need to tell me what you know,’ said Athos. ‘I believe you when you say you do not remember what happened last night… But you must remember waking this morning. Who were you with?’

‘No one,’ replied Aramis quietly. 

He continued to stare out of the window for a few seconds before finally turning away from the window. He looked at his weapons belts, which were still hanging over the chair.

‘I woke up in a strange room and I have no idea how I got there.’

Athos could tell Aramis was shocked at what had happened. He could tell his friend was not going to continue to pretend he was fine. 

They sat at the table together. Aramis turned his chair so that he was sitting sideways, not leaning against the back of it. Athos allowed his friend to relate what had happened to him that morning. The retelling was stilted and awkward for Aramis, but Athos did not interrupt him. 

‘We should visit the hotel, find out who is staying in that room,’ said Athos.

Aramis shook his head, ‘can’t I just be allowed to put this one down to experience. I’m not hurt… badly. I’m sure I wasn’t… sexually assaulted-’

‘But you are not completely sure of that, are you?’

Aramis looked away, his cheeks reddening, ‘it doesn’t feel as though someone had sex with me last night.’

Athos nodded his understanding. It did not take away the thought that Aramis might have been assaulted in other ways. They had both concluded that Aramis had been drugged. Aramis could have been forced to do things whilst under the influence of the drug.


	2. Chapter 2

They both looked around as Porthos pushed his way into the infirmary, a look of concern on his face. 

‘What are you two doing here?’ he asked. ‘I saw the doctor leaving, he was a bit secretive.’

Porthos wandered across the room to them both. Looking them over with a critical eye, trying to find some injury he had not noticed during muster. He pulled out the chair next to Aramis, as he sat down, he slapped his friend on the back. The inevitable reaction from Aramis left Porthos looking very confused. 

Aramis tried to stifle the yelp of pain as he bent forward in a vain attempt to escape Porthos’ friendly slap. Athos was quick to steady Aramis, a hand on his friend's arm. Aramis took a few short, gasped, breaths before nodding he was alright. Athos looked at Porthos who could not understand what had happened. 

‘It’s alright,’ said Aramis, ‘tell him.’

‘Tell me what?’

Athos related all that they knew about the assault. He knew that Porthos would not berate his friend for leaving himself open to the attack. None of them were perfect, they all made mistakes. They all got caught out at one point or another. 

Aramis had managed to sit himself back up by the time Athos had finished talking. Porthos was watching him with obvious concern. There was something else about the look their friend had. Aramis noticed it as well. 

‘What?’ he asked. 

‘The description of the scratches,’ he said. ‘I saw it… yesterday afternoon, at the mortuary. I’d gone to identify poor Francois. Poupart had taken delivery of a couple of murder victims.’

‘Murder…’ Aramis looked at Porthos for several seconds before looking away. 

The full scale of what had happened to him and what could have happened seemed to be dawning on Aramis. 

‘Two young whores. Pretty things… they were found in their rooms a few hours before. They’d been strangled. Their backs were covered in cuts. Swirling curves. But not as neat as the way you describe the cuts to Aramis.’

Porthos looked at Aramis for a few seconds, he reached up and eased the collar of Aramis’ doublet away from his neck. 

‘You’ve got bruises on your neck…’

Athos leaned forward. Now that he knew they were there he could see the darkening marks on the back of his friend's neck. Aramis had said his neck felt stiff from sleeping awkwardly. Which would have fit with being left after being drugged?

‘Perhaps you were not drugged, Aramis. Whoever attacked you might have only strangled you enough to make you pass out. Perhaps they were disturbed. Perhaps they never intended to kill those two women…’

Aramis stared off into the distance for a few seconds. He reached up to his face and rested one hand over his mouth and nose.

‘I think I was smothered,’ he said quietly, the confusion and frustration on his face obvious.

‘What else do you remember?’ asked Porthos.

‘I can’t remember anything,’ snapped Aramis, ‘just stupid bits and pieces.’

He pushed his chair back and walked from the room with pace, leaving the door swinging on its hinges as he went. They watched him stride across the yard to the target practice area. They knew no one else was there. He disappeared around the corner. A few seconds later they heard the family crack of his pistols firing. A short pause followed as he reloaded them. 

Athos looked at Porthos, ‘this needs investigating. There is a killer out there. Why he did not kill Aramis I do not know, but it needs looking into.’

Porthos nodded, ‘and we need to keep an eye on him. This has thrown him. He’s usually so sure of himself. He’s been in some dodgy situations before… but nothing like this.’

‘The fact that he cannot remember what happened,’ said Athos, ‘must be very frustrating for him... I cannot imagine what he must be going through-’

Porthos huffed out a laugh, ‘you often can’t remember the morning after,’ he said.

Athos gave him a withering look, ‘but I have never woken up in a strange bed not knowing if I have been seriously assaulted or not. I have never woken with an unexplained injury before.’

They walked around to where Aramis was firing his pistols at the target. He was hitting the centre every time. Athos knew that the activity was calming for his friend. On the rare occasion, Aramis became worked up about something he was often found on the target range. 

After a pause whilst Aramis fired his second gun the two Musketeers approached him. 

‘Sorry,’ he said, without turning around. ‘I don’t like admitting to being… used… or assaulted… or whatever happened. I think that’s what’s most frustrating… I don’t know what happened.’

Porthos reached out and squeezed his friend’s shoulder. Aramis did not try to move away or shrug him off, he appeared to welcome the contact from someone he trusted.

‘You want to tell Treville, don’t you?’ he said after a few seconds. ‘You’re right. Two women have been killed and I was… well, we don’t know, do we… whoever did this needs to be stopped.’

‘You don’t need to be involved, Aramis. The two murdered women are probably enough to warrant an investigation,’ said Porthos. ‘I was going to update the Captain this morning.’

‘But knowing the attacker is not only picking on street women makes it more serious,’ suggested Aramis. ‘Although I can’t add anything other than my injuries as evidence.’

Whilst they had been talking Aramis had reloaded his pistol again. His actions so well practised he was not watching what he was doing. He turned back to the target, raised his arm and fired; the ball hit the centre. Aramis stared at it for a few seconds. Athos wondered if his friend was imagining his attacker in front of him. 

‘Let’s talk to the Captain,’ said Aramis decisively. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever had such a humiliating confusing day before. I think a visit to my commanding officer is just how to continue it.’

Aramis reloaded and primed his weapon before sliding it into the holster on his belt. He looked at them both for a moment before nodding. He walked back towards the garrison yard and the Captain’s office. 

Athos could tell Aramis was not looking forward to the conversation they were about to have with their Captain. They followed their friend up the stairs and towards the Captain’s office. His door was open, Aramis paused waiting for an invitation into the office. 

When they had filed in and Porthos had closed the door the Captain looked at them with intrigue.

‘What brings the three of you here?’ he asked. ‘What have you done?’

His friendly smile faltered when he looked at their expressions. 

‘We think… we know,’ began Aramis, ‘that there have been some assaults in the city that need to be investigated.’

Treville shook his head, not understanding, ‘then you should be talking to the constabulary. We’re soldiers unless this has the potential to affect the Royal family we don’t need to be involved.’

‘The assaults have already affected the Royal family indirectly,’ said Athos.

He nodded towards Aramis who looked uncomfortable again. 

‘In what way?’

For the second time, Athos explained what they knew. The Captain gave Aramis a sympathetic look. 

‘I do not judge you Aramis. From the sounds of things, you really are a victim here. You would not intentionally put yourself in danger like that. I know that you take risks when you have your… liaisons. But no more than any of you do when you go out into the city to seek companionship. You could just as easily be stabbed by a woman as assaulted by a man. As your Captain, I worry about you all when I dismiss you for the day.’

Aramis nodded his thanks.

‘And I agree this does need to be investigated. What you describe is profoundly odd. There are many questions. This man needs to be found and arrested. I would imagine, Aramis, that you would like to be involved in the investigation?’

‘Yes sir. As the man has attacked three people-’

‘That we know of,’ interjected Porthos.

Aramis acknowledged his friend’s input, ‘that we know of. He could strike again.’

‘The problem is we have so little to go on,’ said Athos. ‘We can make a start with the hotel you woke up in. And we can examine the other victims. But we have no idea what this man looks like or anything about him.’

‘And we cannot just hope that Aramis will remember at some point,’ said Treville. 

Porthos turned to his friend, ‘I may know someone who might be able to help you to remember,’ he said. 

Aramis looked at him for a few seconds before shaking his head.

'If you are suggesting a drug to help me remember I’m not doing that. I know we’re not sure if I was drugged or not. But I do not want to take anything else.’

‘No,’ said Porthos, ‘this woman has ways of making you remember on your own. To be honest, if the authorities found out about her, they would have her tied to a stake and burning. Accused of witchcraft before she’d even been tried.’

‘How does she do it then?’ asked Treville. 

‘I’ve seen it done,’ replied Porthos, ‘she gets the person to relax and then slowly helps them to remember. It’s really odd to watch the person, they’re in some sort of trance… but without any herbs or drugs or anything. There was a little lad in the court that had witnessed his parents getting murdered. He was so traumatised he couldn’t speak. Marie worked her magic on him, and he was able to recount the events as clear as day.’

‘We cannot go into the Court of Miracles, Porthos. They do not take kindly to soldiers. You might be alright, but not the rest of us,’ said Athos.

Aramis nodded, ‘there’s no point in us putting ourselves in danger,’ he said. 

‘I think she’d come to us. Not here, but she would leave the court as a favour. I saved her a while ago. She owes me.’

‘Aramis,’ said Treville, ‘would you be willing to try this? We cannot force you to do it.’

‘I’ll try, sir. If it helps to prevent any further attacks, I’ll try.’

Athos felt sorry for his friend but proud of his bravery at the same time. 

‘We can use my rooms,’ said Athos. ‘Would that suit?’

Porthos nodded, ‘I’ll get word to her.’

‘Update me on your progress and let me know if you need any additional help. And be careful out there.’

With a wave of his hand, the Captain dismissed them. Aramis led the way down the stairs pausing at the bottom and turning to look up at them both. 

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I feel a fool for being a victim of this man. Thank you for helping me to deal with it.’

‘No problem,’ said Porthos with a friendly squeeze of his arm as he passed. 

Athos could not imagine how difficult, embarrassing, and awkward the morning had been for his friend. It pleased him that Aramis was able to continue to stand tall. He only hoped that what they found out later that day would not affect him too much. 

MMMM

Porthos walked slower for Marie, the woman had grown old since he had known her in the court. He had met her a few times since leaving the city within a city. They had shared their experiences, his of war and soldiering, hers of poverty and fear. In many ways, he considered the older woman as family. Not in the same way that he treated his friends at the garrison, they were his brothers in arms. He would lay down his life for any of them. Marie was a caring, motherly, woman. She could never replace his mother. She had been the one that many of the orphaned youngsters of the court would go to when it got too tough on the streets. She would patch them up, feed them some wholesome broth, and send them on their way. They were never sheltered by her. She never offered favouritism to any one of them and they all loved her all the more for that. 

A couple of years before he had come across her. She was being harassed by a couple of visitors who were drunk and trying their luck with her. Porthos had never seen her looking fearful before. The men were trying to take advantage of an older woman. Thinking she was whore and would be cheap due to her age. It had not taken Porthos much to see them off. Marie had been very thankful and told him she would repay the favour one day. That he would know it when the time came. 

He wondered if there was something in the accusations she received of witchcraft. But if she was a witch, Marie was not a maleficent one. The grey-haired woman, who was still attractive despite her advanced years, was the most genuine and gracious woman Porthos knew. 

‘And your friend is happy for me to try to help him? You explained what I would do?’

‘Yes, he’s embarrassed about what’s happened. I think it would be good for him to know for sure that there was or wasn’t anything he could have done to prevent the assault.’

Marie nodded, ‘these marks on his back, you said they were intricate patterns?’

‘I’ve only seen the ones on the women that were killed. They were quite crude. From the description, I’ve had the ones Aramis received were neat in comparison.’

‘I wonder if they are something ritualistic. Do you think he would allow me to look at them?’

Porthos thought for a moment, his poor friend had already been through a lot that morning. But Aramis had seemed determined to bring his attacker to justice. The attack on Aramis could not be used as evidence. Any counter-allegations could prove lethal to Aramis. His assault would have to remain unreported. Unless they could prove that Aramis went to the hotel with the man willingly. 

‘We can ask him,’ said Porthos. ‘If you think you’ll be able to recognise the marks as something other than just a pattern I’m sure he would let you look.’

Marie smiled, ‘it sounds as though he is taking a brave risk being involved in the investigation.’

‘He is, but he wants to find out what happened.’

The door opened as they reached Athos’ rooms. Athos greeted them both and took Marie’s arm to help her up the stairs. Porthos ensured the door to the street had been closed before following. They would not want any interruptions.

Aramis was waiting for them, sitting at the small table in Athos’ rooms. He rose to greet Marie; she shook his hand warmly. She looked at Aramis for several seconds, holding his hand in both of hers.

‘Young man,’ she said. ‘You are safe with me. I only want to help you get to the truth. If there is someone out there hurting people, they need to be stopped.’

Aramis smiled, Porthos could see that his friend was nervous. 

Marie glanced around the room. Porthos noticed that Athos had tidied away the ever-present empty bottles. The blankets on the bed were straight. When Porthos saw Athos to his rooms he would knock the empty bottles out of the way and tidy the blankets himself.

There had been one night a few weeks before when Aramis had helped Athos back to his room. The following day Porthos had noticed that Aramis had some suspicious bruises. Athos was even quieter than usual. He knew the two had slept together but had not said anything.

Marie, still holding Aramis’ hand, led him to the one cushioned chair. The brown chair was old and tatty. It might have had brighter colours on its back and seat when it was new, but the embroidery had faded over time. Marie indicated for Aramis to sit. Porthos placed one of the hard-backed chairs behind Marie who smiled gratefully. 

She turned back to Aramis, ‘are you happy for your friends to stay?’

Aramis glanced at them both and nodded, ‘they know I was with a man,’ he said.

Marie nodded and smiled, ‘good. Now, I need you to relax, close your eyes and take a few deep breaths.’ 

Porthos watched as Aramis did as Marie asked. It took him several seconds to settle his breathing and relax. Marie was still holding his hand. She was rubbing her thumb across the pal. She studied his face, waiting for some sign that he had relaxed. 

‘Think back to the last thing you remember yesterday evening.’

Aramis' response was quiet, ‘going to the tavern,’ he said.

‘The tavern where you meet people to sleep with?’

Aramis nodded. He seemed oblivious to his surroundings. Porthos glanced at Athos who was watching with a mixture of concern and fascination. Whatever Marie was doing to help Aramis seemed to be working. 

‘I bought a drink and sat down. I don’t usually have to seek anyone out. They usually come to me.’

Porthos could believe what his friend was saying. They all knew Aramis was attractive, it did not take much for him to find someone who wanted to spend time with him. He wondered if Aramis was aware of what he was saying that he was being so open about his private life. He wondered if Aramis would remember.

‘A man came over, but I told him he was too young,’ continued Aramis with a smile, ‘the lad looked upset until I pointed out another man of his age who was watching him.’

Aramis made a gesture with his free hand, indicating something on the other side of the room. Porthos wondered how real his friend’s memories seemed. 

‘Who spoke to you after that?’ asked Marie.

Aramis, his eyes still closed, looked a little confused. 

‘I can’t see his face… he’s wearing a dark green doublet. His breeches matched the colour…’

‘Can you tell us how old he was?’

‘My age, I think,’ said Aramis. ‘A little shorter than me… he had dark blond hair.’

‘Well done,’ said Marie with a squeeze of Aramis’ hand. ‘What happened with the man?’

The confusion on Aramis’ face intensified for a few seconds, his breathing sped up. Marie leaned forward and rested her hand on Aramis’ chest, the move seemed to calm him. 

‘We talked. We made sure that we both wanted the same thing and that neither of us was there to cause trouble.’

The taverns Aramis frequented were often the scene of guarded conversations. It was not unknown for the Red Guard or the constabulary to place men in the taverns to catch others out.

‘Look at the man’s face,’ said Marie. ‘What does he look like?’

‘He’s handsome, green eyes, pleasant smile.’

Porthos looked at Athos, who shook his head. The description was not much to go on. The only hope they had was for Aramis to recognise the man again now that he had remembered what he looked like. 

‘What happened next?’


	3. Chapter 3

_The previous night… ___

__The hotel was one of the more expensive ones in the city. The sort that had locks on the doors and fresh linen on the beds for each guest. The room was spacious, dominated by an elegant four-poster bed. The deep red drapes were tied neatly at the posts. Candles dotted about the room and a fire was lit in the small hearth added warmth and light._ _

__Aramis wondered if the man had asked for the room to be ready for him when he returned from his meal. He liked the idea of just getting on with the fun and not having to deal with finding candles and lighting a fire. He turned to the man who was looking at him with the same hungry expression he had been using in the tavern. Aramis did not mind. The man was handsome; he looked forward to whatever they were about to get up to. The man glanced at the bed for a few seconds before looking back at Aramis. He tilted his head; Aramis raised an eyebrow._ _

__‘Strip,’ said the man._ _

__The man reached for the buttons on his expensive doublet. He kicked off his shoes sliding them out of the way under a chair._ _

__Aramis smiled, he wandered over to the bed pressing down on it with his hand, feeling the softness. He decided he should try to have liaisons with wealthy men more often. The women he saw were all wealthy. Often the men were of his own class and they ended up fucking in some dark, cheerless corner of the city. One ear always alert for the approach of the red guard._ _

__Aramis sat on the cushioned bench seat at the end of the bed and pulled his boots off. He straightened up to shrug out of his doublet. He had only left the garrison with one gun and a dagger. It did not take him long to lay the weapons on top of his doublet._ _

__‘Do you look for trouble?’ asked the man from behind him._ _

__Aramis turned to find the man pouring wine into two fine glasses._ _

__‘Your weapons,’ the man said nodding towards the gun and dagger._ _

__‘Paris can be dangerous at night,’ replied Aramis._ _

__He hoped the man would not question him further. He did not want to lie to the man. But he could not be truthful about his occupation. If the man knew he was a soldier he was more likely to recognise him if he saw him on patrol. That could lead to accusations that he did not want to deal with. Aramis liked to sleep with strangers, but he was not a fool. He knew what he did was illegal._ _

__‘You’re a bit slow at taking your clothes off,’ the man said, his queries about the weapons forgotten. ‘You said you were happy for me to lead… and I want you to strip.’_ _

__The man smiled; he ran his tongue over his teeth slowly. His eyes were raking over Aramis who could not get enough of the attention. He obliged the man by undoing his breeches and pushing them to his ankles. He slid his stockings off at the same time. He pulled his shirt off and dropped it with the rest of his clothes on the bench behind him._ _

__Slowly, the man approached him looking him up and down. Aramis could feel himself getting hard at the attention. The man had not even touched him and yet Aramis wanted him. The man handed him a glass of wine, before walking around him. Aramis sipped the wine. It was expensive. He savoured the flavours. Allowing the liquid to roll around his tongue for a few seconds before swallowing._ _

__The man rested his hand on Aramis’ waist. He slipped the tip of one finger into the top of Aramis' braies. Aramis remained still and let the man do what he wanted. The finger traced a line around Aramis’ waist as the man returned to stand in front of him. He took the glass from Aramis’ and drained the contents. He took a step back and put the empty glass on the table._ _

__Aramis reached for the ties of his braies and pulled them loose. The man returned to stand in front of him. He slipped his hands over Aramis’ hips pushing the braies far enough down so that they fell to the floor. Aramis looked the man in the eyes. The man did not look down, did not look at his naked body. The man let his hands do the looking for him._ _

__Aramis managed to suppress the gasp as the man stroked the length of his hard cock. The man searched Aramis’ expression looking for a reaction. Aramis enjoyed denying the man the satisfaction. Finally, the man stepped back and took a moment to admire Aramis. Aramis stood firm, did not move, did not react._ _

__‘On the bed, face down… you are mine for the next few hours and I intend to make use of you.’_ _

__Aramis kept his expression neutral. He did not want the man to see how much he was enjoying the prospect. Although his cock was making it obvious, he was looking forward to what the man had to offer._ _

__He strode to the side of the bed; he chose to lie so that he could see the room rather than only have the wall to look at. The man did not object. He nodded his approval. Aramis watched the man walk to a chest of drawers. He opened the top drawer and pulled out some ropes. Aramis almost grinned. The prospect of the handsome stranger restraining him appealed greatly. The danger the situation would bring made his heart race._ _

__The man stalked towards him, Aramis finally gave in and smiled. The man responded by touching him again. Stroking one hand lazily across Aramis’ back. The hand lingered on his buttocks before trailing down his right leg. The rope was expensive and not too rough. Aramis could feel the rope as it was wrapped around his ankle. Aramis went back to not responding, instead, he tried to imagine what it would be like to be fucked by the man. Would the man want Aramis to return the favour? Would the man want to be tied down as well? Aramis was not bothered; he was enjoying himself and would go along with whatever the man wanted._ _

__The trailing fingers traced back up his leg and across his back, pushing into his hair for a few seconds. The man leaned in and nuzzled at the side of Aramis’ face. He muttered something that Aramis could not understand. A response was not required._ _

__The man wrapped his hand around Aramis' wrist and eased his arm away. It was harder for Aramis to balance with his right arm pulled away from his body. He persevered, wanting to watch the stranger in action as he prepared his willing victim._ _

__Straightening out another length of rope the man skirted the end of the bed and reached for Aramis’ left wrist. The move forced Aramis to lie flatter on the bed. He watched as well as he could as the man wrapped the rope around his wrist. Aramis thought the ropes were tighter than necessary when they began to pinch at his skin a little. But he did not want to ruin the mood by mentioning it to the man. Aramis wanted the man to continue, wanted the man to be dominating. Aramis always enjoyed watching others take charge._ _

__After Aramis’ left ankle was similarly restrained the man stepped back. He wandered from post to post double-checking the ropes. Aramis tracked the man's movements from his place spread across the bed for the man’s pleasure._ _

__The man wandered away; Aramis guessed he was going to strip off. The stretch on his shoulders made it difficult for him to keep his head up and watch his handsome captor. The man had made sure to restrain Aramis in such a way to leave him with little movement. He gave up trying to watch the man and rested his head on the soft bed instead. A small movement gave his cock a bit of friction and relief. The anticipation was almost too much._ _

__Almost._ _

__He could hear the man moving around for a few seconds before he walked to the head of the bed. The man had not taken off any more clothes. The man wanted to keep his dominance. Aramis had allowed the man to tie him to the bed, his dominance in the proceedings was already assured. He wondered if the man was scarred or disfigured in some way and did not like to reveal his body to others. It would not have bothered Aramis, but he would not question the man._ _

__Something was put on the side table before a weight shifted him as the man climbed on the bed. The trailing fingers travelled up his left leg. The action sent pleasurable feelings through his body._ _

__The man shifted again, settled between Aramis’ widely spread legs. He could tell the man had leaned forward with his hands on either side of his body. He could feel the expensive shirt brushing over his bare back as the man leaned forward. The man said something in his ear. For the second time, Aramis had no idea what the man said. It sounded foreign. Not Latin, or any of the languages he could recognise. The man had spoken French without an accent. The change in language was curious, but not at the top of Aramis’ lists to have an answer to._ _

__His curiosity rapidly turned to shock when he looked at the man’s hand and what he held in it. A thin, sharp-looking dagger, the tip of which looked as honed as a needle. Aramis tried to twist enough to look up at the man as his heart rate increased for quite a different reason._ _

__‘I don’t mind being tied up, but I’d prefer it if you put the dagger down, my friend,’ he managed to say._ _

__His words muffled by the soft mattress._ _

__Aramis pulled at the ropes on his wrists and his ankles. An unusual panic threatening to take away his ability to reason. The man shifted so that he was sitting across Aramis’ back, pinning him to the bed. The hand holding the dagger had disappeared from Aramis’ view. It did not take him long to work out where it had gone._ _

__The first touch was almost light enough for him to miss. Somewhere between his shoulder blades a prick to his skin then a line traced outward._ _

__His breathing sped up as he pulled at the ropes again, feeling the tightness._ _

__‘Let me go,’ he said, trying and failing to keep the panic from his voice._ _

__Aramis was a soldier; he did not panic. Although, being tied, naked, to a bed with a man straddling him holding a knife to his skin perhaps gave him cause._ _

__The dragging dagger continued to cross his back. Never hard enough to cause serious pain, but with enough force that Aramis knew it was there. He could not imagine what his back would look like when the man had finished. The man was speaking quietly as he moved the dagger. Aramis could not work out what was being said, he did not recognise the words._ _

__‘What do you want?’_ _

__The man did not reply._ _

__Aramis pulled at his restraints and tried to twist his body, but the man had managed to pin him effectively. The dagger was used across his whole back. The man shifted his position a few times until he was sitting across Aramis’ thighs. Leaving him in further discomfort. As the point of the dagger moved across his buttocks Aramis held his breath. He did not particularly want the man to slip with the sharp implement._ _

__The scratching continued for a few more seconds before the man shifted again. He climbed off the bed and walked away. Aramis managed to lift his head enough to watch the man. The action of moving pulled at the skin on his back. He winced; he had no idea how badly hurt he was but it stung all across his back._ _

__The man walked to the drawer where the ropes had been. He picked up a small bottle and a cloth. He poured the contents of the bottle onto the cloth before returning to Aramis._ _

__‘What are you doing? Untie me. I’ll just leave.’_ _

__Aramis was not lying to the man; he had no intention of remonstrating with him. Once free he intended to grab his clothes and leave. He did not even want to redress in front of the man. He would put the incident down to experience and lock it away never to talk about it again. Aramis was rarely scared, particularly for himself, but he was scared at that moment._ _

__Helpless._ _

__‘This will make you forget,’ said the man who crouched by the bed holding the cloth in front of him._ _

__Aramis looked into the man’s eyes, his piercing green eyes. The eyes that had only added to his attraction now appeared serpent-like and evil._ _

__The man pushed the cloth towards Aramis’ face forcing it against his mouth and nose. Aramis pulled away as much as he could, but the man persevered. He grabbed the back of Aramis’ head and held him still. Aramis tried to hold his breath, but the man continued to hold him. Aramis had to take a breath, the cloth smelt and tasted odd. He could not place the smell and the taste, but he recognised them. He was sure of that._ _

__The scents overwhelmed him; his senses reeled. He was able to breathe properly once the cloth was removed. He opened his eyes for a few seconds, but his vision had become cloudy and confused. His limbs were heavy, he could not lift his head._ _

__The man climbed onto the bed again and knelt next to him. Aramis felt a gentle pressure on his back. A finger following the lines the dagger had taken on its tortuous route. His captor shifted to lean forward a little. Aramis could not help a gasp of shock as hands started squeezing the back of his neck. Pressing him down into the bed. One hand left his neck to cover his nose and mouth. The smothering effect caused him to panic and struggle. Aramis tried to fight back but realised through hazy thoughts that he was not moving. Barely causing the man any issues as he continued to deny Aramis any air._ _

__Greyness gave way to black._ _

__MMMM_ _

__As Aramis finished describing what had happened to him the room fell silent. Marie kept hold of his hand for a while before shuffling closer, sitting on the edge of her seat._ _

__‘Well done,’ she whispered. ‘Can you remember it clearly now?’_ _

__Aramis opened his eyes, blinking a few times. He looked vacantly at her for a few seconds before focusing and nodding. He looked shocked. Marie let go of his hand as he lifted it and looked at his wrists. The telltale grazes from the ropes were there, none of them had noticed them, hidden by his shirt and doublet._ _

__‘I went back to his rooms expecting to have some fun,’ Aramis said when he finally looked up at Porthos and Athos. ‘I thought that’s what I was going to get…’_ _

__Porthos remembered Aramis telling him about a time he had spent with a young widowed duchess. How he had allowed her to restrain him. He had spoken fondly of the few days they had been together, how he had enjoyed letting her take total control of him. It was something men in their position rarely got the chance to do. They always had to be in control, to relinquish it would spell disaster on the battlefield. But in the bedroom, with someone they trusted…_ _

__‘This won’t go any further,’ said Porthos, wishing to offer his friend some reassurance._ _

__Aramis had been quite explicit in his recollection of the previous night. It had been disturbing to listen to him go from enjoying himself to being fearful for his wellbeing. Any time Porthos had seen Aramis fearful before it had been for someone else. Sitting vigil by one of his friends as they battled through a fever. Or defending someone and worrying that he could not save them._ _

__Seeing Aramis worried about himself was not something Porthos wanted to repeat. Even if it was only a memory now._ _

__Athos poured them all a cup of wine. Marie took hers with a smile and a nod of thanks. Aramis took his with a slight shake in his hand. Marie rested her hand on his knee._ _

__‘You don’t have to,’ she started, ‘but I would like to see the marks he made on your back. The way Porthos described those poor young girls that were killed. Something about it… there is something in my mind that I can’t quite reach…’_ _

__‘You think you might recognise the pattern?’ asked Athos. ‘The marks were certainly not random. They were considered and on Aramis at least, precise.’_ _

__Aramis stared at his wine for a few seconds._ _

__‘You don’t have to, young man,’ said Marie with a kind smile._ _

__Aramis looked at her, ‘if you think you will recognise the marks then I don’t mind,’ he said._ _

__Marie took his cup and moved out of the way as he stood up to undo his doublet and ease it off. Porthos wanted to step forward to help him when he winced in pain, but Athos curled his hand around his arm. They both knew Aramis would not want to be mollycoddled. Porthos had watched Aramis since finding out about his injuries. He knew his friend was not badly incapacitated, but he was in pain. Pain that he was doing very well to hide, only occasionally letting it get the better of him. When he had settled himself in the cushioned chair his movements had been slow._ _

__The old woman stepped up to him as he untucked his shirt and turned around. She lifted the back of the billowing shirt enough to see most of the scratches across Aramis’ back. It was the first time Porthos had seen them. The cuts he had seen on the two women were just that: cuts. What had been done to Aramis’ back could almost be considered art. The lines were sharp, the curves precise. The pattern, under different circumstances, could be described as intricate in detail. The repeating pattern interlocked in a way that did not seem possible. Porthos hated to think how long it had taken. How long Aramis had been forced to endure the pain and fear._ _

__Marie lowered the shirt._ _

__‘I do recognise that pattern,’ she said._ _

__Aramis turned to look at her._ _

__‘There was a boy in the court. His parents were foreign, from the north. They did not follow any religion I recognised. It was ancient. If I am considered a witch for some of my methods, they were also witches.’_ _

__‘But you help people, Marie,’ said Porthos. ‘You being accused of witchcraft is wrong.’_ _

__Marie smiled, ‘but this family, they kept themselves quiet. I’m not sure how they managed to find their way in the court, but the father managed to sell some of his wares. The mother would make basic clothes. The designs printed onto them were the same as the scratches on your back.’_ _

__They all looked at one another for a moment._ _

__'What happened to them?’ Aramis asked as he tucked his shirt back in._ _

__‘The mother died. The father couldn’t cope with the lad. He left.’_ _

__‘Was this when I was living in the court?’ asked Porthos._ _

__His brow furrowed, something about Marie’s recollections sparked something in his mind._ _

__‘Yes, you probably remember the boy. He was… I cannot think of a pleasant way to put it… he was insane. The lad mumbled words that none of us could understand. His French was good when he chose to speak it, but generally, he spoke his native language. At least that is what we thought he was speaking. Only his Mother seemed to understand him when he talked like that. She spoke the same to him.'_ _

__Porthos nodded, he had a vague recollection of the boy, who was a couple of years older than him. He looked at Aramis who raised a questioning eyebrow._ _

__‘Do you remember what colour the man’s hair was?’ he asked._ _

__Aramis looked away for a few seconds, struggling with the memory. Marie stepped up to him and took his hand again._ _

__‘Just think it through, Aramis, the memory is there.’_ _

__‘Blond, dark but definitely blond.’_ _

__Both Marie and Porthos looked at each other._ _

__‘You don’t think it was the same boy?’ he said._ _

__Marie frowned, ‘surely not,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what happened to him after he left the court. I think he managed to get himself into the army. One of the infantry regiments.’_ _

__‘Why did he leave the court?’ asked Athos._ _

__With a sad smile, Marie replied, ‘he was violent, even by the standards of the other young men in there. He didn’t just rob someone for their money, he would beat them unnecessarily. I don’t think he killed anyone, but he was drawing too much attention to the court. They could not risk the Red Guard getting involved. The elders threw him out with only the clothes on his back and a few coins in his pocket.’_ _

__Aramis looked pensive, ‘he needs to be stopped. He may be ill of the mind, but he is still dangerous. He’s already killed, two people. Why he didn’t kill me… is strange-’_ _

__‘If he is ill of the mind, his motivations may not make sense, not even to him,’ suggested Athos._ _

__‘Let’s start at the hotel,’ said Porthos._ _


	4. Chapter 4

Athos led them towards the hotel. It had been an awkward moment when he had told Aramis to wait for them at the end of the road. Their friend had looked confused. Athos had been forced to spell it out to him. If he was seen the previous night or that morning and was then seen in uniform, he could face persecution. It would be obvious what he was doing at the hotel, or at least meant to be doing. Aramis had nodded his understanding and wandered off. Heading towards a few of the nearby market stalls. 

Athos wondered if the attack on Aramis would affect him. Would he lose his confidence? He doubted Aramis would be any less of a Musketeer. But, perhaps, he would not be as outgoing and gregarious. Athos hoped that would not happen. Aramis had been quiet since the attack and had been shocked when he was able to remember what had happened. They all knew the danger he put himself in when he went to taverns to meet men. None of them could have predicted what had happened. From the description of the liaison, Aramis had managed to give it had started off normally. Aramis had gone along with the man’s demands thinking they were going to have an enjoyable time. Athos would not forget the look on Aramis’ face as he described seeing the knife for the first time. His friend had looked shocked, even though he was only recounting the events. 

‘Wish I could stay in a place like this.’

Athos was snapped from his thoughts by Porthos. They had reached the hotel. The area was affluent. All the buildings in the street were well maintained. The smartly dressed people walked straight and tall. There was no sign of the destitution they saw across most of the city. 

The double door with two scrubbed clean steps was set in the centre of the building. Symmetrically arranged around and above the door were several tall narrow windows. Painted shutters framed the upper windows. A couple of the windows were open on the upper floors. Athos could see a maid changing the bedding in one of the rooms. A young boy stepped out of the door and looked along the street. He waved at someone before stepping back into the hotel. A carriage, driven by two black horses, moved to the doorway. The boy, who was now carrying what looked like a heavy bag, reappeared. The carriage driver jumped down with another man. They stepped into the hotel reappearing with a chest which was taken to the back of the carriage. 

A well-dressed woman stepped out of the hotel. She allowed the driver to help her into the carriage. A man followed her. He tossed the boy a coin before joining the woman in the carriage. They drove off, forcing those ahead of them in the street to move aside. 

‘We could never afford something of this price,’ said Athos. 

He knew he could afford such a place but chose to keep that information to himself. 

The boy was about to close the door as they approached. He looked at them for a few seconds before holding the door open wide. 

‘We need to speak to the owner or whoever is in charge,’ said Athos.

The boy, probably only ten years old, looked at them both for a few seconds. His gaze lingered on their pauldrons and weapons. He nodded and walked away. They could see him stop at a door further into the building and knock. 

The small hallway they were standing in had several doors leading off it. A stairway with an ornate bannister led to the upper floors. Large mirrors on each wall gave the narrow hallway a further impression of grandeur. 

‘You wanted to see me?’ asked a man in his forties as he walked towards them. 

The man was dressed in a plain jerkin over a crisp white shirt with dark breeches. His polished shoes were not the sort that would last long on the dirty streets of the city. The man was dressed to impress his wealthy guests. 

‘We are investigating a number of attacks that have happened. We believe the perpetrator is, or was, staying here.’

Athos watched the hotelier’s expression go from one of slight aloofness to one of worry. He had started off looking down his nose at them. But quickly changed his attitude to one of defensiveness.

‘I would not tolerate someone like that staying here,’ said the man. ‘Could we talk in my office?’

He glanced around himself, worried that one of his other guests might be in the vicinity 

‘No,’ said Porthos, ‘you can show us the room where our suspect stayed.’

‘He was about our age, a little shorter than me,’ said Athos, ‘dark blond hair-’

‘Room three,’ said the man with a disgruntled sigh. ‘The man that didn’t pay.’

Athos looked at Porthos who raised an eyebrow.

‘He was gone this morning… and I know he had someone else in his room. Someone who felt the need to slip out the back door and move things about in my yard so that he could climb over the wall.’

The man paused for a few seconds. 

‘I know it was a man, I doubt a woman would have been able to scale that wall. Disgusting behaviour. No doubt the man you are after paid some street boy to deal with his needs.’

‘How do you know it was not your guest that scaled the wall?’

‘Because young Pierre there,’ the hotelier pointed at the boy by the door, ‘remembers opening the door for the guest at dawn. The man said he was going to secure onward travel and would return in an hour for breakfast. And to pay the remainder of what he owed. He did not return.’

Porthos looked at the stairs, ‘did he leave anything in his room?’

‘No, and it’s already been cleaned. You won’t find anything of interest.’

‘Nonetheless,’ said Athos, ‘we would like to see the room.’

The hotelier looked at him for a few seconds. Athos wondered if he might object. The man saw that there was no point. He huffed and turned away, walking back to his office. He leaned around the door before returning with a key. 

‘Please do not leave a mess,’ he said. ‘The third door on your right.’

He nodded to the stairs.

Athos was pleased the man did not want to accompany them up to the room. He would have no doubt mithered around getting in their way as they looked the room over. 

He doubted they would find anything of use after the room had been cleaned. Aramis had told them there was no sign of the man or any of his belongings when he had woken. But Aramis had been confused at the time, not sure how he had got there or what had happened. It was possible he could have missed something not realising it was significant.

Porthos pushed the key into the lock and opened the door, letting it swing open. They stepped inside. The room was as Aramis had described it. There was good quality furniture in keeping with the rest of the hotel, it was clean and tidy. 

Athos wandered across to the bed and tried to imagine Aramis lying on it. His friend had entered the room thinking he was going to have a good time with the man. Thinking he was going to have sex. Aramis had been lucky; two people had been murdered by the man that had tied him to the bed. Something none of them could work out was why Aramis had not been killed. He was an easy target. He had allowed himself to be restrained and the attacker had a suitable weapon. It would not have taken much effort to stab his victim or slit his throat. Instead, at some point after rendering Aramis unconscious the man had untied him and left. Taking all his belongings with him. 

‘There’s nothing in these drawers,’ said Porthos as he slid the bottom drawer closed with his foot. 

He turned to the wardrobe and pulled the doors open. The mirrored doors sending light reflections across the walls of the room. It was empty. 

Athos turned back to the bed and walked around it. He looked at the posts, leaning in a little. 

‘Here,’ he said, drawing Porthos towards him with a beckoning hand. ‘Fibers from the ropes. They are on each corner.’

‘Looks like the ropes were cut off, rather than untied,’ remarked Porthos as he brushed the dusty fibres off the polished wood of the bed frame. ‘Guess the cleaning staff, ain’t as good as the owner thinks they are.’

Porthos grinned. Athos nodded his agreement before straightening up. He made one final sweeping look around the room. 

‘There is nothing else here,’ he said. 

They retraced their steps handing the room key to the boy on the door before leaving the hotel. They walked towards the street market where Aramis was waiting for them. 

Athos could not help thinking about the room and the four-poster bed. Aramis had put his trust in the stranger. A man he had only known for a few hours. He had allowed the man to tie him down. Athos struggled to understand how his friend could have enough confidence in himself, and others, to allow that. To put his life in the hands of someone else entirely. 

He thought back to the night they had spent together. They had not intended to have sex; it had just happened. Athos had not told his friend he had been conflicted as he stripped Aramis and pushed him against the bed. Aramis had not fought him off. Aramis had positively enjoyed the forceful nature of their unplanned liaison. Perhaps, submitting to another person helped Aramis. The usually confident and calm man. A soldier who could kill a man one moment and do everything in his power to save another the next. Did he need to submit occasionally? Did the act of giving up his liberty for a few hours help him to stay in control the rest of the time? Generally, when control was given up there would be an understanding that release was assured if the submitting person wanted it. Athos doubted if even the wealthy duchess that had kept Aramis as a willing prisoner would have done anything with him, or to him, that he did not approve of. 

Athos decided, the next time they were alone he would talk to Aramis. He would tell him that if he needed someone to talk to, he would be there for him.

Aramis was talking to a man selling apples as they approached him. Athos could see his friend was still suffering. He was standing quite stiffly as he talked and had not reached far to take the apples he had bought from the man. They all ignored bumps and bruises; it was part of their life. Even when they were not at war soldiers suffered injuries. Sparring with cadets was fraught with danger. But Aramis’ injuries were the result of an attack that he did not want to admit to. An attack that he could not admit to. The circumstances alone would be frowned upon. And had the possibility to incriminate Aramis. A wholly unfair thing.

The apples were soon passed around. The three Musketeers walked away from the market eating the sweet fruit. Porthos told Aramis what little they had found in the hotel room. Aramis looked at his wrists, pointing out a couple of straight scratches. 

‘We should examine the bodies of those two unfortunate women,’ said Aramis as he finished his apple and tossed the core towards a scrawny dog that had been following them for a few yards. 

Porthos nodded, ‘I agree. I only noticed them because Poupart mentioned them in passing. I didn’t really look at them much beyond the marks on them. Poupart said he would be keeping hold of them until later today in case someone came to claim them. He didn’t hold out much hope. Not for a couple of street women.’

Aramis had turned them towards the mortuary when they walked away from the market. His friend was keen to gather all the information he could about the attack on him and the two women. Aramis wanted to stop the man from hurting or killing anyone else. 

The mortuary was not somewhere any of them liked to visit. It was dank and dimly lit, tucked away so that the wealthy would not have to see it. But even the wealthy could become unwilling visitors to Poupart’s little empire. The plump, genial man of science was always willing to help. He had a good understanding of the workings of the human body. And, more importantly, what happened to it after death. More than once the man had been able to point things out to the Musketeers that they would have missed. His sharp eyes could pick out a suspicious mark that they would have ignored. 

Poupart was sitting at the far end of the main room as they stepped in. He was drinking from a large cup and reading the papers scattered across the table. A quill and ink were set out on the small table he was working at, his dirty apron was hooked on the wall next to him. Stretched out on several tables along the room were covered bodies. Despite an attempt to mask the smell, the Musketeers all took a moment to get used to the stench. The fragrant herbs dotted about the room could only take the edge off the aroma of death. The smell that seemed to seep into every corner. Light from the high windows and several braziers was casting different coloured shadows about the room. 

‘What can I do for you?’ asked Poupart. ‘I don’t think we’ve taken delivery of any more of your stable boys.’

The unfortunate stable boy, Francois, that Porthos had been sent to identify was still laying at one end of the mortuary. The boy had been found dead a few streets from the garrison the day before. An unfortunate victim of a robbery. Despite the boy having nothing worth stealing on him at the time of his death. 

‘We’re investigating some attacks,’ said Porthos. ‘We think those two street women, the ones you showed me this morning might have been killed by the same man.’

Poupart put down the papers he had been looking at and grabbed his apron. He slipped it over his head and tied the strings at the waist. 

‘They’re still here,’ he said, indicating the covered bodies closest to him. ‘You’ll want to look at the marks on their backs. Help me to turn them.’

Poupart indicated Aramis to step forward. Athos knew the actions of moving the bodies would cause pain to his friend. Poupart had asked Aramis, knowing he was a field medic and would probably be at ease with a dead body. Athos was pleased when Porthos stepped forward without hesitation. The move saving them any awkward moments. 

Between them, Poupart and Porthos turned the murdered women onto their fronts. Athos glanced at Aramis who looked angry, he shook his head in disgust and stepped closer to look at the marks. Porthos grabbed one of the touches from its sconce and held it so that they had as much light as possible. 

The dead women were both in their twenties, although their harsh lifestyle had aged them. Their hair was lying lankly about them. One had hair as black as night. The other had strawberry blonde hair that curled delicately either by accident or design. They were both slender, not malnourished. Athos guessed their employer saw to it that they were fed. Men did not want to sleep with emaciated weak women. 

‘The wounds have bled,’ said Poupart, ‘they were inflicted whilst these poor girls were still alive. There are a few cuts that do not fit with the pattern-’

He pointed out the cuts to the sides of the women and to their arms. Signs of a struggle. 

‘-some of the cuts are quite deep.’

Poupart moved to indicate the first woman’s neck. There were several bruises, similar to the ones Aramis had. The women had been throttled in the same way, but with much more force than had been used on Aramis. The women were killed rather than simply rendered unconscious by their attacker's hands around their necks. 

‘They are both covered in bruises. They struggled.’

‘Are there any signs that they were restrained in any way?’ Athos asked, glancing at the wrists of the women. 

‘No,’ said Poupart with a shake of his head. ‘I looked for that, but there are no bruises. Both women are petite. It would not have taken much to hold them down or pin them against a wall. If they were tied down and forced to keep still, the pattern of cuts would be more discernible.’

Aramis let out a slow breath. Athos looked at his friend who still looked annoyed. The two young women lying in front of them had been tortured and killed for no apparent reason. 

‘Do you have an idea who might have done this?’ asked Poupart. ‘Should I expect more victims?’

‘We hope not,’ said Aramis, ‘we intend to catch this man and deal with him. Do you have details of where they were found?’

Poupart nodded, ‘I’ll write it down. One of the men that brought them in said that the other working women heard screaming. But they thought it was part of an act the customer wanted them to do. Would you like me to keep these two for another couple of days? I’d rather not, but if you need them, I’ll find somewhere cool for them.’

Athos shook his head and glanced at Aramis and Porthos, ‘no, I think we have learned all we can from them. Thank you for your time.’

Poupart smiled sadly, ‘good luck,’ he said as he handed the address to Aramis and covered the two women with stained sheets. 

As the Musketeers stepped back onto the street, each of them took a deep breath. Even the sometimes-unsavoury smell of the city streets was better to the smell of the mortuary. Athos looked at Aramis who had a pensive expression. His friend realised he was being watched. 

‘They screamed as they were being cut,’ he said. ‘I did not cry out. It hurt when he cut me, but I remained quiet.’

Athos waited for Aramis to continue as they walked towards the brothel. 

‘If I had cried out, called for help… I would have only implicated myself… the man… he would have just said I wanted him to cut me… I would have been just as guilty.’

‘But a screaming whore doesn’t even warrant a second thought,’ said Porthos with annoyance. ‘Do you think he picked on you because he knew you wouldn’t be able to call for help when he started to cut you?’

Aramis looked away for a few seconds before nodding. 

‘Perhaps he wanted a living victim that was compliant whilst he worked. Those poor girls struggled against him, that’s why the pattern on their backs is messed up and disjointed.’

‘This man, whoever he is, needs stopping. He’s sick of the mind,’ Porthos said with a shake of his head. ‘He may not know what he’s doing, but he still needs stopping.’


	5. Chapter 5

The house where the women had worked was on the corner of two busy roads opposite a tavern. The women would entice men from the tavern into the brothel. Inebriated men were generally more inclined to part with more of their coin. 

Porthos glared at the scrawny man on the door of the brothel. Athos hid a smile as the younger man tried, and failed, to make himself look intimidating to the Musketeer. 

‘We ain’t got no girls free at the moment,’ said the youth.

‘We’re not looking for a girl,’ said Porthos. ‘We want to see the madam or master of this fine establishment. It’s about the two women that were killed.’

The man on the door nodded slowly before looking over his shoulder.

‘Madame Denis,’ he said, ‘there are men here about Sarah and Anne.’

They heard a reply from within the house but could not make it out. The man ushered them in.

‘Madame is in the room at the end,’ he said, indicating the last door in the corridor. 

The three Musketeers filed into the brothel. None of them looked around. They kept their focus on the room they were heading for. It was unlikely they would see anyone they knew taking advantage of the lower-class brothel. But they did not want to get involved in anything if they did see it. Some courtiers went to women for sex it was well known but not spoken about. 

The odd grunt and groan of pleasure could be heard from behind the closed doors as they passed them. 

Madame Denis was sitting in what could only be described as a boudoir. Drapes and low light gave the room an exotic look. A fire burned in the small hearth making the atmosphere a little hazy. Athos thought he could detect the smell of drugs or tobacco. It was probable the Madame plied her girls with narcotics. She would want them kept amenable for the customers. 

‘Why are soldiers interested in the deaths of two of my girls?’ asked Madame Denis.

The woman, in her forties, was attractive and demure. She was reclining on a frilled chaise longue. 

‘We believe the man responsible may attack again and want to stop him,’ said Porthos.

Madame Denis looked each of them over, taking her time. Her gaze lingered on Porthos’ scar. She smiled.

‘If you ever thought about a change of career,’ she said. ‘I have a few men, and women, who visit me that would like to bed a soldier.’

The way Porthos completely ignored the woman’s proposition impressed Athos.

‘We’d like to talk to the women that heard the screaming,’ said the Musketeer.

The woman sighed, ‘it will cost me money to let you talk to them…’

‘We will pay for their time,’ said Athos with a sigh.

Madame Denis smiled; she rose from the chaise longue with theatrical elegance. She walked with an exaggerated sway of her hips to the door. She disappeared for a few minutes. Porthos scowled at the door she had disappeared through.

‘There was a woman like her that used to try to get the pretty girls in the Court to work for her,’ he said. ‘It seems wrong for a woman to use other women and girls like that.’

‘But,’ said Aramis, ‘as long as people pay for it, someone will sell it.’

They waited in silence. Various noises drifted down from the upper rooms. Athos watched Aramis and Porthos who were both uncomfortable being in the brothel. All three of them were itching to leave. 

‘This is Eve and Flore,’ said Madame Denis, indicating two girls who were standing beside her.

They looked a little scared. The madame ushered them into the room. Athos stepped forward.

‘We would like to speak to them alone,’ he said holding out his hand to her.

She took the coins he dropped into her palm and slipped them into a pocket in her skirts.

‘You can have ten minutes,’ she said. ‘I’ve got more paying customers waiting.’

Athos closed the door on the unscrupulous businesswomen as she turned away. The two young women were looking up at the three soldiers. The taller of the two women moved to stand in front of the other. 

‘You want to know about Sarah and Annie?’ she asked. 

The other girl sniffed; her eyes looked puffy from crying. Athos suspected the loss of two of their own had hit the working girls hard. It would have shown them how vulnerable they were. 

‘I was in the next room,’ said the older girl. ‘I was cleaning up after I’d seen a man. Sarah and Annie were both with a man together. I’d heard them having sex, not sure who was having sex with who. Some men like to watch two girls together, whilst they touch themselves.’

The candid way the woman spoke was unnerving. It was as though she knew no other life. Athos guessed she did not. It would not have surprised him to know that the girls had been born in poverty. They would have had little choice but to sell themselves to survive. 

Meekly, the younger girl said, ‘there was some shouting. I heard Annie pleading with the man to stop something… then it went quiet.’

‘We heard the customer speaking again, it sounded strange. The walls are thin here, you can usually pick out the odd word. I didn’t understand any of it,’ the first girl added. 

‘Did you see the man?’ asked Aramis.

Both young women shook their heads.

‘I was still with a customer,’ said the younger woman. ‘He was annoyed because his clothes had been stolen. We were looking for them. There’s no locks on the doors. He was… noisy… anyone could have come in and taken his clothes from the chair.’

Aramis, his brow furrowed with curiosity, asked, ‘what did the clothes look like?’

‘Dark green doublet with fancy buttons. He had breeches of the same colour. He was really annoyed. Madame had to find him some clothes to wear. He was well to do. The clothes were probably expensive.’

Aramis glanced at Athos and Porthos and nodded once. Athos remembered Aramis describing his attacker's clothes. The man that they thought was doing the attacks did not come from a wealthy background. The man had stolen the clothes of one of the more monied customers. He wanted to fool people into thinking he was better off than he was. The good quality clothes would have been enough for the hotelier. A few coins to secure the bedroom would have sealed the deal. And the quality of the clothes would have appealed to Aramis. 

‘Thank you,’ said Aramis, ‘you’ve been a great help.’

‘You’ll catch the man that killed them?’ asked the younger woman.

‘We hope to,’ said Porthos. 

The two women nodded and managed to smile at them. 

Pushing the door open, Madame Denis entered the room, ‘you’ve had enough time, I need them back to work.’

The young women hurried off. Athos could hear quiet conversions in the hallway. The next customers were no doubt waiting for them. The sound of footsteps on the stairs and coquettish giggles were heard as the women returned to their trade. 

Madame Denis stood by the door waiting for them to leave. Athos paused as he passed her. He touched the brim of his hat and bowed his head to her in mock respect.

‘Thank you for your time, madam,’ he said. 

Madame Denis huffed before bustling back into her hazy room. Firmly closing the door behind her. 

They reached the street. Each Musketeer took a deep breath. In the same manner, they had after they left the mortuary, and for much the same reason. 

‘What now?’ asked Porthos. ‘We know he’s clever enough to steal clothing to make him into something he’s not. We know he wants to hurt people but not necessarily kill them. This man is odd.’

‘I think Marie was correct that he was wrong in the mind,’ said Aramis. ‘Perhaps, he is like some of those unfortunate people we’ve seen at the asylum. Does he have more than one personality? Did the death of his mother change him?’

Athos started walking away from the brothel. His friends fell into step with him. He glanced at Aramis who was staring ahead, lost in thought. 

‘Might I make a suggestion?’ Athos asked. 

Aramis looked at him, ‘why do I get the idea you think I might not want to do what you are going to suggest?’

‘I think,’ continued Athos, ‘that we need to talk to someone who understands the way the human mind works. But I fear we may need to be candid with them.’

Aramis nodded his understanding, ‘you think that what happened to me will need to be part of the conversation.’

Athos nodded, he did not like the idea of using Aramis as evidence. But he was a victim of the man they were searching for. He had first-hand knowledge of what the man was doing. 

‘The physician,’ said Aramis, ‘you think we should talk to him?’

Athos nodded, ‘he did intimate to me that he would be happy to talk to you in confidence. He may be able to help us. But if you are not comfortable or are worried he may not see the world as we do, I would understand.’

Athos did not want to push Aramis into doing something that made him feel uncomfortable. They had not needed to mention the attack on Aramis up to that point in their investigation. 

‘I think he can be trusted,’ said Aramis. ‘He wanted to help earlier. I just didn’t want the attention.’

‘You two talk to the physician,’ said Porthos. ‘I’ll return to the garrison and update the Captain.’

Their plan in place the three went their separate ways.

MMMM

Aramis struggled to comprehend the violence that the two street women had suffered. He thought of them being held down as the mad man sliced into them. Had he throttled one first but not killed her as he worked on the other. Had he waited for the first to come around before cutting her? Aramis wondered if the attacker wanted his victims to be conscious as he cut them. He could have killed his victims and cut them after death.

The two women had been unwilling victims. They had screamed for help, but no help came. Aramis knew he had been an unwilling victim. He had allowed himself to be restrained. Submitting to a sexual partner, allowing them the power, was something Aramis had always enjoyed. He was not sure he would be able to do that anymore. He knew the man had not actually done anything sexual to him other than touch his cock. Aramis was sure the man had only done that to maintain the facade. To keep him thinking the ulterior motive was for them to fuck. 

He was beginning to think he should have seen the signs. He should have noticed it was not right before the man had tied him down. He had been so engrossed with the thought of being able to fuck, or be fucked by, the handsome man. He had let thoughts of personal safety slip. Had he asked to be attacked?

‘Are you blaming yourself again?’ asked Athos.

His friend was studying him as they walked towards the doctor's house. 

‘It is difficult not to,’ replied Aramis without looking at Athos, ‘I went with him, I did as he asked, and I let him tie me to the bed. All those things were done willingly.’

‘But you did not ask to be assaulted. You did not ask to be drugged or strangled… Aramis you went with the man thinking he wanted the same as you. You were tricked. You are not to blame…’

‘But?’

Aramis could tell his friend had something else to say but was holding back. Ever since they had slept together Athos seemed to have regarded him differently. Aramis did not mind; he liked that Athos looked at him more.

‘But,’ continued Athos quietly and sincerely, ‘I wish you were more careful-’

‘More careful,’ replied Aramis with a wry chuckle, ‘this is the first time anything like this has happened to me.’

Athos looked away for a few seconds before he looked back. His expression had taken on a regretful look.

‘Are you referring to when we slept together? Are you implying that I should have been more careful then?’

Athos did not reply. Aramis knew he had been shocked at what had happened the next morning. Athos had worried that he had taken advantage of him. He had accidentally knocked Aramis to the floor and left him with a slight head injury. 

‘Athos, we’ve been through this. I’ve wanted to sleep with you since I met you. I’m glad we did it. I’d have preferred it to have been a little less fraught and confused but I still enjoyed it.’

His friend was quiet again for several seconds.

‘I worry about you,’ he said, ‘and this proves that worry to be justified.’

‘I could get shot by an angry local around the next corner,’ said Aramis. ‘I could trip and fall, injuring myself, and not recover.’

‘That is unfair,’ retorted Athos, ‘you know what I mean.’

Aramis knew he had been a bit harsh on his friend. He disliked that Athos seemed to regret the night they had spent together. 

‘I am careful,’ Aramis said after he had calmed himself down, ‘I was unlucky.’

The two men looked at each other, silent apologies passing between them. Poor Athos was only looking out for his welfare. He was asking Aramis not to blame himself and at the same time urging him to be more careful. Which, Aramis guessed, was what he was also doing in his own conflicted mind.

In the future, he thought, he would forgo being restrained by people he had only met that night. In truth, it had been the first time he had allowed someone he had only met hours before to restrain him. Generally, when it happened, he had known the man, or woman, for a while. 

‘You do not have to talk to the doctor,’ said Athos in an obvious attempt to move the conversation on. 

‘I know, but I believe we can trust him,’ replied Aramis.

‘Do you want to talk to him alone?’

‘Athos,’ said Aramis with a smile, ‘you already know what happened. In more detail than I would have liked. It was odd when Marie got me to talk. I would never have gone into that much detail otherwise, I’m sure.’

‘Let us hope we do not need her services again in the future,’ agreed Athos. 

They turned into the street where the doctor lived. The man of science had picked a house near to several other medical and scientific men. The area was a hub for the learned men.

Athos rapped on the doctor's door. They looked up and down the street, no one was paying them any attention. The doctor who served for the Royal family also assisted at the Musketeer garrison. Two soldiers visiting him would not look out of place. 

A handsome older woman opened the door. Her greying hair was mostly hidden by an embroidered cap which matched her apron. She smiled at them.

‘Doctor Noyer said he might have a Musketeer visit him this afternoon. He said you can go straight through. There’s no one else with him. I don’t believe he has any more appointments to attend to… Unless he gets called to the Palace.’

She winked at them as she stepped aside to let them pass. Aramis glanced at Athos who shrugged.

‘I did not arrange this,’ Athos said a little defensively. 

Aramis chuckled, ‘I suppose the good doctor was perceptive enough to realise that once I’d calmed down a bit, I might need his help.’

Aramis knew he had been a bit off-hand and almost violent with the doctor earlier in the day. But at the time he was shocked at what had happened to him. 

The housekeeper led them across a small hallway to a half-open door. She pushed the door open and looked in. 

‘Doctor,’ she said, ‘the Musketeers, they’re here.’

Noyer, who was sitting at a desk strewn with open books and papers, looked up. He smiled and beckoned them in. The housekeeper stepped back.

‘Eve, see that we’re not disturbed… unless it’s the Palace.’

The doctor smiled as his housekeeper bustled off.

‘I am allowed to keep my own working hours, unless it involves the Royal Family, for them, I am on call all the time. Which can be a little…’

He paused; Aramis wondered if he thought they might berate him. Athos had noticed and finished the doctor’s thought for him.

‘Irritating, annoying, inconvenient?’

The doctor chuckled and nodded. He turned to look at Aramis.

‘I’d like to apologise for my behaviour this morning. I shouldn’t have tried to hit you,’ said Aramis.

The doctor shook his head, ‘no, Aramis, I let my curiosity get the better of me. I shouldn’t have treated you as a specimen. Although, I couldn’t stop thinking about the injuries you received. I was sure I had seen that pattern before… It was my housekeeper who recognised it. She’s not French. She’s from Norway, came to France as a young child, so you wouldn’t know from her accent. I’d drawn out the pattern as well as I could remember it and she saw it. She told me it’s a very ancient pattern associated with paganism in the northern countries. I’ve been trying to find something about it but I only have friends who know about science and look to the future. I don’t know anyone who looks to the past, let alone another country's history.’

‘We may have a suspect,’ said Aramis, ‘and he’s described as being from one of the northern countries so that fits.’

He looked at Athos who nodded, ‘Your information confirms what we already know,’ he said. 

‘Tell me about this suspect,’ asked the doctor, indicating two chairs in front of his desk.

The two Musketeers settled in the chairs and related what they knew. Aramis recounted what he had remembered, although not in as much detail. The doctor did not react to the fact that Aramis had sought out the company of another man. The open-minded doctor allowed Aramis to go through the events at his own pace. He only interrupted a couple of times to clarify a point here and there. Athos took up the tale with what they had learned from Marie, and at the mortuary and finally at the brothel. 

Noyer leaned back, he rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers. He thought for a few moments, staring into the middle distance. They waited for him to speak.

‘Disorders of the mind,’ he began. ‘It’s not a thing I actually know a lot about. I don’t think it’s a thing that many people know about. It’s not studied as much as it could be. Most poor souls, once they are deemed to be insane, are locked away. Or, if they have committed some crime are executed as a common, sane, criminal. I’m not saying this man shouldn’t be brought to justice for what he has done. But if he had been found to be insane sooner, he could have at least been locked up for his safety as well as for others.’

Aramis agreed with the doctor's sentiment. The man that had attacked him and murdered the two women was not well. No sane person would do what he had done. 

‘What is particularly worrisome,’ Noyer continued, ‘is that this man is obviously intelligent. Or, at least knowledgeable enough to be able to render his victims immobilised. It is possible he did not have access to whatever drug he forced you to inhale when he attacked those poor women. It almost seems as though they were a practice, a first attempt… although I somehow don’t think he’s finished. The women, the cuts to their backs, how far down did they go?’

Aramis’ eyes widened as he realised what the doctor was getting at, ‘the cuts stopped at the small of their backs. The marks he left on me go… further.’

‘And,’ said Athos, ‘the women were not cut as far up their backs either. The scratches to Aramis cover much more of his skin than the cuts to the women.’

‘Do you think he wants to cover his victim with marks?’ asked Aramis, feeling a little nauseous at the thought that he had, perhaps, got off lightly.

‘It’s impossible to say,’ commented the doctor, ‘with only three victims-’

‘That we know of,’ interjected Athos.

The doctor nodded, ‘I think there will be more if there hasn’t already been.’

The three men sat in silence for a few moments. Each contemplating the prospect of further attacks.

‘I wonder,’ said Noyer, ‘if we might be able to work out what he used to cause paralysis in your body.’

He looked across at the shelves to his left. Arranged on the shelves were an assortment of jars and stoppered bottles.

‘There was something about whatever it was that I recognised, but I can’t place it,’ said Aramis.

‘You said he intended it to make you forget what had happened? There are several herbs that could cause that reaction. Particularly when mixed with other things. You probably recognised one of the other herbs but out of context could not remember what it was. Of course, it didn’t work…’

Aramis looked at the doctor, not understanding him.

‘You remember what happened. Whatever he gave you worked in the short term. All it took was for - Marie, was it? - to help you to remember by getting you relaxed.’

‘Aramis had to be in the right frame of mind to remember,’ said Athos, who had worked out what the doctor meant. ‘You needed to want to remember. Most victims of a traumatic event want to forget it. I know I would gladly forget some of the things that have happened to me.’

Aramis wondered what Athos was referring to. They had all suffered the horrors of battle. But Aramis would not want to forget that. To forget that would be to forget the comrades he had lost.

The doctor reached up to the top shelf and lifted a small jar down. He looked at it for a few seconds before looking at Aramis. 

‘Don’t inhale it, just smell the aroma,’ he said

The doctor unstopped the jar and held it out to Aramis who leaned forward. He breathed in, allowing the pungent aroma to assail him for a few seconds. It was not until he felt Athos’ hands on his shoulders steadying him, he realised he had reacted. 

‘You looked as though you wanted to run from the room for a second there,’ said the doctor as he pushed the stopper back into the jar. ‘Sorry, if I had known it would have had that effect, I wouldn’t have tried that.’

‘That is definitely what I was forced to breathe in,’ said Aramis as he waved Athos off. 

His friend looked quite concerned and did not lean back for several seconds. One hand lingered on his shoulder. It took Aramis a few seconds to calm his breathing.

‘It’s not something that grows around here. I’m afraid I don’t recall what it is called. It does, however, add to our theory that the suspect is from one of the northern countries. I believe it is used by pagans.’

‘How did you come by it?’ asked Athos with suspicion. 

The doctor laughed, ‘it was confiscated from a witch would you believe,’ his smile fell from his face. ‘The woman was burnt at the stake many years ago. My mentor witnessed the execution and was allowed to look at her apothecary. She was from the north. The substance can cause paralysis when mixed with alcohol. But I believe the woman mainly used it to cause people to forget things.’ 

The three men lapsed into silence again for a few seconds. Aramis thought through all that they knew. They were still no closer to tracking down the attacker. But they did know a bit more about the circumstances.

The door was pushed open eliciting an annoyed look from the doctor. 

‘Apologies, doctor,’ said Eve. ‘But this gentleman insisted…’

She stepped aside, Porthos was hovering behind her. His expression was grim.

‘There’s been another attack,’ he said.


	6. Chapter 6

‘There’s been another attack,’ said Porthos.

He watched his friend’s reactions. Athos looked angry and Aramis looked upset, as though it was his fault that someone else had been hurt. 

Doctor Noyer, who had been standing to the side of Aramis was the first to speak.

‘What are the circumstances? Did they survive?’

Porthos stepped into the room, ‘one of the Captain’s sources told him about it. The Captain had put the word out that we were interested in a foreign man and gave a few details out. He says it wasn’t long before he got the information. A young lad, I believe he's in his early twenties was picked up in a tavern,’ Porthos glanced at Aramis.

‘The same one I met the man in?’

Porthos nodded, ‘the lad went with the man. But they didn’t go to a hotel this time. They went to an empty house. The lad, from what I’ve heard, was slight and scared. I think, like those poor women, he was held still by the fear… he let the man tie him up and cut him. He kept still… The scratches and cuts go down the lad's legs and onto his chest.’

Athos looked at the doctor, ‘you said he wasn’t finished.’

‘We concluded,’ said Aramis, with barely disguised guilt, ‘that the attacker wanted to do more than he had done to me.’

‘Stop blaming yourself for this,’ said Athos quietly.

‘Athos is correct, Aramis,’ said Noyer, ‘you are a victim here. I know you think you allowed it to happen, but you did not.’

Porthos could tell Aramis was still not ready to accept that he was not some way at fault for all that had gone on.

‘The Captain’s source is going to try and arrange a meeting with this lad,’ said Porthos. ‘But the lad is scared.’

‘Aramis should talk to him,’ said the doctor. ‘You know what he went through. He might be more inclined to talk to someone who has suffered the same injustice.’

Aramis nodded.

‘Let me know how you get on. And if this lad needs any medical help, bring him here.’

‘Thank you,’ said Aramis.

Porthos led them back onto the street. He listened as Aramis updated him on their conversation with the doctor. They were not any closer to catching the attacker, but they were building up a picture of a broken and confused man. Although, Porthos found it impossible to feel any empathy for the man. The man had killed twice and now attacked two men in a conniving manner. Lured them away with the promise of one thing when what he did was the opposite. 

They walked to the quiet tavern where Porthos knew the boy and Treville’s contact were waiting. The near-empty room was being warmed by a large fire. A couple of men were standing by the fire deep in conversation. One of the men was wearing an apron, marking him out as the landlord. Another man was sitting alone in a corner. The man on his own was sitting in shadow, tucked into the corner, almost hidden. Porthos pulled out the money bag that the Captain had given him. He tipped out some coins and handed them to the man with the landlord.

‘The Captain thanks you,’ said Porthos. 

The man nodded to Porthos as he pocketed the coins. The landlord leaned forward.

‘I’ve given him some broth; lad hasn’t stopped shaking since he was brought in here.’

Aramis walked up to the man holding out his hand gesturing for him to stay. The man looked like he wanted to bolt from the room. Athos indicated for Porthos to join them. He watched Aramis settle in the chair next to the man. His friend waited for them all to sit. 

‘Are you going to arrest me?’ asked the young man, his voice quiet.

Now that they were closer Porthos could see the man was young, not even twenty. He was holding onto the cooling cup of broth. Porthos suspected it was the only way the boy could keep his hands still. 

‘We’re not here to arrest you,’ Aramis said, keeping his voice level and calm. ‘We only want to talk to you about what happened.’

It saddened Porthos that the boy thought that he would be the one persecuted. 

‘You were hurt by a man that has attacked other people,’ said Aramis. ‘We want to find that man and stop him from attacking anyone else.’

‘But you’re soldiers,’ said the young man.

‘We’ve been asked to find the man that attacked you. Tell us what happened.’

The scared boy took a deep breath, ‘I’d gone to the tavern. Sometimes men want to be with me… they pay me.’

The boy looked ashamed. Porthos leaned forward.

‘We ain’t gonna judge you. Times are tough. If someone is prepared to pay you for your time that’s up to them.’

The boy nodded, he sniffed. Aramis reached out his hand to squeeze the boy's shoulder. The boy leaned away, fear in his eyes. Aramis stopped himself.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I won’t touch you.’

‘He hurt me, it’s sore there.’

Aramis nodded his understanding.

‘We went to an empty house; he’d offered me more money than I usually get. He asked me to take off all my clothes… they don’t usually want that…’

The boy took a sip of the broth. 

‘I started to take my clothes off, he watched me. But the way he looked at me it was… different. He got me to turn around so that he could look at me… He started to speak in a language I didn’t understand. I didn’t like it. I wanted to leave. I turned back to face him, but he’d got close to me and grabbed me… I’ve learned not to cry out…’

Porthos glanced at Aramis who looked away for a few seconds. The boy noticed Aramis’ reaction. He tilted his head for a few seconds in thought. 

‘You’re the same,’ he said quietly.

Aramis looked back at the boy and nodded. 

‘He attacked me as well,’ Aramis said.

The boy looked stunned.

‘But you’re a soldier.’

‘He tricked me,’ said Aramis. ‘I thought we were going to spend the night together, but he tricked me…’

The young man looked at Aramis for several seconds, ‘did he cut you as well?’

Aramis nodded.

‘Did he tie you with your arms over your head?’

Aramis shook his head, ‘no, he tied me to a bed.’

‘He wrapped the rope around my wrists,’ the boy stretched out his arm a little pulling the sleeve of his shirt up. 

The skin on his wrist was raw and bruised. Aramis gently took the boys hand and turned it over to look at the marks. He looked up at Athos.

‘Can you ask the landlord if he can spare some cloths so that I can dress these?’

Athos nodded and stepped away from the table. 

‘The rope went over a beam in the ceiling. He pulled it so that I was forced to stand on my toes…’ 

The boy looked away for a few seconds sniffing. A tear spilt from his eye and trickled across his cheek. 

‘I was terrified. I didn’t know what he was going to do. He kept saying things I didn’t understand. I kept quiet. I didn’t know what else to do… Then he pulled out the knife. It was sharp. I’ve never seen a knife with such a sharp point. He scratched my skin, on my chest.’

The boy pulled his shirt down a little, revealing stark red scratches across his skin. They reminded Porthos of the marks on Aramis’ back. 

‘I cried, but he carried on. I begged him to stop. I couldn’t shout for help… I had a friend once that was hurt by a man he was with. When he cried out, they were both caught… I never saw my friend again… I heard he was executed. I was quiet. I only whispered to the man. But he didn’t react to me. He just kept cutting me.’

Athos returned to the table with a bowl of hot water and some cloths. Aramis cleaned the grazes to the young man’s wrists and dressed them. 

‘He cut my chest and my back… down my legs… it’s sore all over. Once he’d finished… he… he stood behind me…’

The young man had started to take short breaths as he recounted what had happened to him. Aramis laid his hand over the man’s arm.

‘He put his hands around my neck and squeezed… I couldn’t breathe…’

The boy sniffed a few times.

‘The next thing I knew… I was lying on the ground. He was gone. I managed to get dressed and left… I spoke to an old lady I know. She’s always kind to me. She let me sleep by her fire for a few hours… I think she told a couple of people.’

‘The man,’ said Aramis, ‘what did he look like?’

‘He was handsome. He had a green jacket. It looked expensive. He had blond hair and green eyes. His eyes were-’

‘Piercing?’ suggested Aramis.

The young man nodded with a sad smile.

‘Did he make you take anything?’ asked Athos.

The young man looked at him and shook his head before looking back at Aramis.

‘He gave me something that made me forget what had happened to me for a while. I couldn’t move…’

The boy looked shocked, ‘no, I wasn’t given anything… but you’re a soldier… perhaps the man thought you would fight him.’

Aramis chuckled, ‘to be honest I was scared,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to get away from him.’

Aramis glanced at his friend’s. Porthos reached over and rubbed his arm.

‘Just ‘cos we’re soldiers,’ he said looking at the boy, ‘don’t mean we can’t get scared.’

The boy nodded his understanding.

‘Perhaps he did not have any more of the drug left. Perhaps he used the last of it on you,’ suggested Athos. ‘The lad is correct; he may have seen you as more of a threat.’

Porthos leaned forward a little and dropped the money bag Treville had given him in front of the boy. The remaining coins made a dull thud as they hit the table. 

‘For your time and honesty,’ said Porthos. ‘That should help you for a few days. You won’t need to visit any tavern to find men to pay you for your time.’

The boy reached out and took the money bag, weighing it up in his hand for a few seconds. His eyes widened as he realised how much he had been given. He looked up at Porthos and managed a small, shy smile.

‘Thank you,’ he said. 

‘Thank us by keeping safe,’ said Aramis. ‘And we will thank you for your time by catching this man and making sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else.’

The landlord had quietly approached the table, the young man looked up at him, recoiling a little.

‘I don’t know all that’s happened to this lad. I can see whatever it was has left him scared,’ he said before looking at the young man. ‘If you promise to work hard, I can offer you a job here. It won’t pay much, but you’d be fed, and you can sleep in the kitchen. I’d see to it that you came to no harm.’

Porthos could see the boy did not know what to say, the fear was clouding his judgement. 

‘He’ll take you up on that offer, monsieur,’ said Porthos. ‘And he thanks you for it.’

He looked back at the boy who nodded, the visible shake underlining how traumatised he was. 

They left the boy in the care of the landlord. He had managed to coax him out of the corner towards the warmth and pleasant smells of the kitchen. 

‘Poor lad,’ said Porthos with a sigh.

Aramis was a few paces ahead of them, the tension obvious in his shoulders. 

‘At least he appears to have a safer life to look forward to,’ said Athos.

Aramis turned back to them, ‘but he shouldn’t have to look forward to a safer life. He should have been safe already. That lad didn’t deserve to be hurt like that. He was vulnerable and that bastard preyed on that.’

‘You did not deserve to be hurt either, Aramis,’ said Athos calmly. ‘You were taken in by him as well.’

Porthos watched as Aramis tried to calm his anger again. They were all wound up by the events of the day, but poor Aramis was struggling to contain himself. He had gone from confusion to shock, to anger in a matter of hours. Porthos would have liked to get his friend to stop for a while. To rest and come to terms with what had happened to him. But he knew Aramis would not rest until they had dealt with the murderer. 

‘There are not many people from the northern countries that live here,’ said Athos. ‘There are a few Danes, but the attacker appears to be from further north than that.’

‘The woman that recognised the pattern was Norwegian,’ said Aramis.

‘That’s as good as anything else,’ said Porthos. ‘I know a baker from Norway.’

His friends looked at him.

‘I do know other people,’ he said with a shake of his head. ‘His shop’s not far from here. He might know something. Foreign people tend to find each other.’

With nothing better to suggest the Musketeers made their way towards the bakery. Porthos had found Johnsen by accident. He had chased off a thief a few months before. The baker had rewarded him with some fresh bread. He had talked with the man for a while. The baker had told him about his home and why he had left. Johnsen had admitted that he was a fugitive if he returned to his native land, he faced arrest. Porthos did not judge the man, he told him that as long as he did not cause any issues in Paris it was not his concern. When Johnsen told Porthos why he was a wanted man, Porthos had laughed. They decided that most laws were ridiculous. They did not take into account the poverty that most people suffered. 

The bakery was one of the more popular in the surrounding streets. On occasion, Porthos would detour to buy bread from Johnsen and often had to queue. At that moment there was only one old woman being served. She looked up at the imposing soldiers as they waited a few feet from her. 

‘They’ve come to arrest me and lock me away,’ said the baker with a cheeky wink.

The old woman laughed and turned to the Musketeers, ‘you leave this young man alone, or you’ll have me to deal with.’

Aramis tipped his hat at the old woman, ‘it would be our pleasure to be dealt with by you, madame.’

The old woman smiled and slowly walked away chuckling.

‘Is this about the man that’s been attacking people and cutting them?’ asked Johnsen.

The baker saw their expressions and smiled.

‘Word gets around,’ he said. ‘And when a foreigner is accused, word gets around a bit quicker to those of us that are not from France.’

‘In which case,’ said Porthos, ‘do you know anything that might be of use to us?’

‘He visited me earlier today.’

The three Musketeers stared at the man who nodded.

‘Would you like to come in?’

MMMM

When Aramis did not move to follow Porthos and Johnsen into the back of the bakery, Athos looked at him.

'Are you alright?’

Aramis looked at him, ‘yes, sorry,’ he said. ‘Do you think we might actually be getting closer to catching him?’

‘It has only been a few hours,’ Athos reminded his friend. ‘But this could be useful.’

‘That poor lad-’

‘You’re doing it again,’ Athos admonished. ‘The man attacked you as well.’

Aramis tugged at his weapons belts; a move Athos had noticed his friend doing several times. He could guess the reason. The injuries he had received were not serious but were awkward for him. Walking around would have been a constant reminder for Aramis. His clothes would have been rubbing against the scratches. Any extra movement would have exacerbated the discomfort for him. Athos hoped they did not have to deal with anything too energetic for a couple of days. Aramis would not like to compromise their ability but at that moment he was a slight liability to the group. 

‘If you want to go back to the garrison for a bit,’ said Athos, ‘we can carry on-’

‘No,’ replied Aramis firmly, ‘I’m fine. The scratches, they itch and it’s uncomfortable. It won’t slow me down. I know what you’re thinking.’

Athos smiled, pleased that his friend was not allowing the events to overwhelm him. 

They followed Porthos and Johnsen to the back of the bakery, through to a cosy sitting room. A set of rough steps led up to a second floor where the baker and any other family would sleep. 

‘I’m not used to this many people in my home,’ said Johnsen with a smile. ‘You two will have to stand.’

Athos and Aramis arranged themselves by the doorway. Porthos sat opposite Johnsen who had wiped his hands on his apron as he took a seat.

‘The man,’ said Johnsen, ‘he arrived a few hours ago. It took me a while to realise I knew him… Well, I don’t know him. I’ve seen him around. He was dressed well. He’s usually only in rags. But I knew it was him. His eyes. Green. The green doublet seemed to make them even more piercing. He has a confused look about him usually… but not this time. He seemed determined… He walked up to me and spoke in his native tongue.’

‘What did he say?’ asked Athos.

Johnsen shook his head, ‘I don’t know, it’s a dialect I don’t understand. I picked out a few words. It’s ancient I'm sure. Something about finishing his work. Honouring his mother.’

Johnsen looked into the distance. His eyes screwed half-closed, as he tried to remember the details. 

‘Would you consider him to be sane?’ asked Aramis.

The baker shook his head without hesitation.

‘That young man is mad, monsieur. Not only because of what he’s done. Murdering whores and cutting boys up… horrible,’ Johnsen shook his head in disgust. ‘Every time I’ve seen him, he’s acted strange. He’s scared off my customers before now. I’ve had to throw him out before now. I’ve told him to not return.’

‘Did he ever talk about himself? We agree that he is insane. If we understood his motivation it might help us to get ahead of him,’ said Porthos.

Johnsen leaned back in his chair, ‘he moved to Paris at a young age from what I understand. Remember I’ve never understood him completely. His mother died which can only have added to his… confusion. And his father-’

‘Abandoned him,’ said Porthos with a sigh. ‘If he weren’t going around hurting people, I could almost be sympathetic for him.’

‘Did he give you any indication where he was going when you saw him last?’ asked Athos.

‘No, he only said he had to finish what he started last night. That he had unfinished work.’

Athos glanced at Aramis who had paled a little. 

Porthos leaned forward, ‘did he say where he was going to finish his work or when? Anything that could help us?’

The baker shook his head, ‘I’m sorry, messieurs, I can see you are determined to catch this man. And I want you to catch him… If he comes back here, I will get word to your garrison. But somehow, I doubt he will return. There was a finality to his words. I don’t think I’ll see him again.’

Porthos twisted in his chair to look at his friends, ‘sounds like he’s got something planned.’


	7. Chapter 7

Porthos watched Athos and Aramis glare at each other over the table. Aramis’ suggestion was horrible, Porthos understood Athos’ reaction. Using bait to lure out the madman was a dangerous thing to do. The idea had taken a dark turn when Aramis told them who should be the bait. 

‘I’m the logical choice,’ said Aramis again. 

Athos shook his head.

‘You have seen what he is capable of. Those women and that poor boy. The boy will probably never make a full recover. He’s never going to have any confidence again. That kind of fear, it stays with a person-’

‘I was bloody terrified, Athos. I thought he was going to kill me. I thought I’d made the stupidest mistake of my life. I did make the stupidest mistake of my life. And I don’t want anyone else to have to go through that.’

‘Why do you think he’d go near you?’ asked Porthos. ‘If he sees you, he’s likely to disappear again.’

Aramis shook his head, ‘the drug. He thinks I’ve forgotten what happened.’

‘Even so,’ said Porthos, ‘he’s already attacked you once. Why would he try to attack you again?’

‘To finish the job,’ said Athos before taking a swig of wine. 

‘Exactly,’ said Aramis.

‘Which is all the more reason why you should not do it. What if finishing the job involves killing you?’ 

Aramis looked away.

‘I am serious,’ said Athos. ‘What if you do go with him again, pretending you do not remember him. He has not got any more of that drug now-’

‘We don’t know that for sure,’ interjected Aramis.

Athos leaned forward and pointed a finger at his friend, ‘you are too much of a risk-taker,’ he spat. ‘You take too many chances. You will get yourself caught. You did get yourself caught. If you had not been quiet when he was cutting you, he might have cut deeper. The same way he cut those girls. You would be dead…’

Aramis could not find a response. He stared at Athos for a few seconds before pushing himself up to stand and stalking away from the table. He disappeared into the stable.

‘We cannot let him do this,’ said Athos as he turned to Porthos. ‘I know he can handle deceiving other people well, but this… It rattled him. You saw the state of him this morning.’

‘He didn’t know what had happened then,’ Porthos reminded his friend. ‘And I’d have been worried if this hadn’t bothered him.’

Athos looked in the direction of the stables. He was about to get up when Porthos stopped him and shook his head. 

‘Leave him be for a bit. We’ve all been there. Let him calm down then we can talk properly… and for what it’s worth, I think it’s a good idea.’

Athos stared at him. Porthos chuckled.

‘With a bit of proper planning, we can make sure to keep him safe. If, and it’s a big if, this man wants to finish the job with Aramis, he’s probably going to try to find him in the tavern again. If he believes Aramis does not remember him, he might try the same tactic again. Taking him somewhere under the promise of a good time. We can follow. Once we’re sure we can make a quiet arrest, so that Aramis’ involvement can be denied, we can take him.’

Athos mulled over Porthos’ proposal for a few seconds before nodding reluctantly. 

‘We just need to be sure he does not come to any more harm,’ said Athos.

‘Hey, I love him as well,’ said Porthos. ‘I can see how much this is affecting him. He needs to see this bastard brought to justice. More so since we’ve found out about the other attacks.’

Athos took another long drink of wine. Porthos started to work out the finer details of the plan in his head. They only had to wait a few minutes for their friend to reappear from the stables. He wandered back over to them. He sat back at the table, a sullen expression on his face. 

‘Sorry,’ he said looking at Athos, ‘you’re right. I do take risks.’

‘And I know why you do it,’ said Athos. ‘I just wish you did not have to.’

‘Good,’ said Porthos, ‘now that we’re all back on speaking terms let’s sort this plan out. Nothing gets left to chance. Aramis, you will do as you’re told, or we won’t be able to watch out for you properly.’

They discussed the plan carefully. Porthos watched Athos’ continue to worry. His friend did not like the plan but was prepared to go along with it. 

‘I’ll get ready and leave in a few minutes,’ said Aramis. ‘I won’t take any more weapons than I did last night. I need it to look as though I can’t remember the previous night-’

‘I think,’ said Athos, ‘if you could remember the previous night, you would not be going to that tavern again tonight.’

Aramis nodded his agreement, ‘let’s just hope he takes the bait and wants to go somewhere that we can easily apprehend him.’

Athos leaned forward and looked directly at Aramis, ‘if we,’ he nodded towards Porthos, ‘think you are in danger. We are going to put a stop to this. I do not care what your opinion is on the matter. You are more important to us than catching that man.’

Porthos could tell Aramis wanted to argue. But after he looked at them and realised, they were both of the same opinion he backed down and nodded. 

‘I’ll be a few minutes,’ Aramis said as he walked away.

‘I hate this plan,’ said Athos.

‘So do I,’ replied Porthos, ‘but it’s all we have at the moment.’

MMMM

Athos hated the plan. He hated that Aramis was the one that had suggested that he put himself in danger. He also hated that they had argued, despite how brief the argument had been. Aramis had apologised, he had returned the apology. The air was supposedly clear, but the slight tension between them had remained. Athos thought that Aramis was annoyed at him for his comment about him going off to seek the company of other men. Aramis was correct, it was a shame he had to take a risk to find intimate companionship. He knew Aramis wanted to sleep with him again. And he wanted to sleep with Aramis, but he could not. Not when his thoughts were always filled with her. Their previous encounter might have been enjoyed by Aramis. But Athos had found it difficult. He had enjoyed the moment, but the guilt at how he had treated Aramis had tormented him afterwards. Even if most of the rough treatment he had dished out was down to the alcohol he had imbibed. 

And now, he was watching his friend walk with confidence towards the tavern. One of the taverns Aramis went to with the purpose of meeting other men to sleep with. Aramis was walking into danger in a bid to stop a man hurting anyone else. A selfless, generous, thing to do. His friend was determined to stop the madman. They all were. 

‘He’ll be fine,’ said Porthos from behind him, ‘or he’ll have me to answer to.’

They had tucked themselves into a recessed doorway with a view of the tavern. As Aramis disappeared through the door, they caught a glimpse of the busy interior. A couple of men exited after Aramis had gone in. The pair walked off companionably, there was no contact between them. To any unsuspecting passers-by, they would look innocent. Which, thought Athos, they were. The men were not doing anything wrong by wanting to be together. They were not causing anyone harm. If men could be in relationships with whoever they wanted Aramis might not have been hurt. His friend could have had a stable relationship with someone he knew and trusted. He would not feel the need to meet strangers in taverns at night. 

They watched an assortment of men enter the tavern and a few more leave either alone or in pairs. A couple of men looked as though they could have been the killer, but it was difficult to tell in the twilight. 

‘There,’ said Porthos, nudging Athos and indicating with a nod of his head.

The man, in his late twenties, was walking toward the tavern. The man’s doublet was undone. He had a dagger tucked into a holster on his belt. He carried no other weapon. 

‘I believe you are right,’ said Athos as they watched the man enter the tavern. 

‘Now we wait,’ said Porthos with agitation. ‘The worst part of the plan.’

They had decided if the man approached someone else Aramis would leave the tavern. They would lay in wait for the man and his next victim and follow them. Secretly, Athos hoped the man picked someone other than Aramis to hurt. Even though they had every intention of making sure no harm came to anyone. 

The sky was darkening rapidly. The flickering flames from fires within the houses around them soon became the only source of light. The fire from the tavern lit up the windows well enough but they could not make out what was going on inside. Too many people were milling around. All they could do was continue to monitor the doors for any sign of their friend and the attacker. 

A light rain had started to fall causing the cobbles to shine and any passers-by to walk faster. Athos and Porthos remained at their station. Watching the doors to the tavern. They lapsed into silence both lost in thought. Athos hoped they would be able to round out the eventful day with an arrest and no further injury to Aramis. 

It was with disappointment that Athos watched the man emerge from the tavern with Aramis. Aramis glanced in their direction and nodded. He walked away from the tavern with the man who was pointing along one of the quiet side streets. 

‘Guess he’s got somewhere in mind for their liaison,’ said Porthos as they stepped out from the shadow of the doorway.

‘And it does not appear to be a hotel this time,’ remarked Athos.

The man was talking to Aramis, leaning into him occasionally. Aramis had said the man was convincing when they had met the previous night. There had been no hint of his ulterior motive. Athos knew that Aramis would not have gone with the man if he had been at all suspicious. They knew the man was mad, but his insanity was well hidden when he needed to act like a normal man. 

Porthos quickened his pace as the pair ahead of them turned a corner. Athos lengthened his stride to keep up. They peered around the corner in time to see the man holding a door open for Aramis who disappeared from sight. They looked up at the building. It was one of the many abandoned storage houses. Standing empty waiting for stock when a ship came in from some far-flung country. The building required maintenance. As they walked towards the door, Athos could see rot setting in on the wooden support beams. The stones were crumbling in places. He guessed the choice of the building had been due to the neglect. The man was less likely to be disturbed. 

They reached the door and paused, listening intently. A gap at one edge allowed them a limited view inside. With little light, it was difficult to make anything out. Porthos eased the handle down. Athos glanced along the road no one was within sight. He nodded to Porthos who pulled the door open a few inches and looked inside. After a couple of seconds, he pulled the door wide enough for them to enter. 

The warehouse was split into several partitioned areas. Raised platforms, where a cart could be unloaded, lined the building. There were hoists above each platform. The interior reminded Athos of an oversized stable. 

There was no sign of Aramis or the man. Porthos tapped his arm and pointed further into the building. He pointed at his ear to indicate he had heard something. Athos followed as Porthos led them towards whatever he had heard. 

Athos always found the moment they went into battle to be exhilarating. They had prepared for war and were ready to take on the enemy and win. He tried to equate what they were doing with going into battle, but he could not. Aramis had put himself in danger to catch the killer. To catch a man that had already attacked him once. Aramis was relying on them to get to him before anything untoward happened. In battle, it was kill or be killed. But what they were doing was different. It was underhand, it relied on stealth, and their friend's life was at stake. 

As they progressed through the building, Athos paid attention to every noise. He tried to discern what Porthos had heard. He could make out the sound of skittering rats, disturbed by their presence. Something, that might have been a bird roosting high above them, cawed. He paused. A scraping sound; a muffled word. Porthos looked at him he nodded; he had heard it as well. 

They moved on, increasing their pace. They did not want to give themselves away. They had to catch the killer at the right moment. 

They heard the sound of a scuffle. Then what had to be someone falling or being shoved they quickened their pace a second time. They stopped as they rounded the last partition. 

The man had tripped Aramis to the ground. A move that Aramis would have allowed to happen. The sharp dagger was in the man’s hand, held behind him, out of sight of Aramis. Their friend was hurriedly pushing himself to his feet. He was pretending to be confused he held his hands out in front of him. 

‘What’s that matter?’ Aramis said. ‘I thought you wanted to fuck.’

The man stepped towards him. The knife still out of sight of its intended victim.

‘You’re pretending you don’t remember last night. You’re lying,’ the man spat before pushing Aramis back again. 

Aramis continued his act for a few more seconds before the man swung the knife around and slashed at Aramis. Had he been wearing his leather doublet; the blade would have merely scratched the surface. But Aramis had switched to a plain fabric jerkin over a thin doublet. The knife sliced through both with ease causing Aramis to gasp as the sharp point bit into his skin. 

Athos wondered if Aramis kept to his character for a few seconds too long. The man grabbed his shoulders and pushed him backwards. Aramis stumbled, carried by the momentum of the push. He fell over an old barrel and disappeared, with a crash, into a pile of sacks and planks of wood. 

Porthos ran forward, Athos followed. The man, who had been about to step forward towards his victim again, looked up at them. His eyes went wide for a couple of seconds before he turned and ran away from them. 

Aramis was frantically trying to push the planks of wood off him as they reached him. He had become caught on something and was yanking at his doublet trying to free himself.

‘Get after him, I’m fine,’ yelled the fallen Musketeer. 

‘Go, I’ll help him,’ said Porthos who was already shoving the old barrel out of Aramis’ way. 

Athos knew his friend was in safe hands. He took off after the attacker who he could still see silhouetted in the distance.

The man turned to the left out of sight. Athos heard a bang and felt a blast of cold air. He turned to the left in the same place that the man had done. A large double door blocked his way. The door was not locked, a breeze had picked up along with an increase in the rain outside. The door was wafting on its hinges, pushed by the wind. Athos already had his gun in his hand as he reached for the handle and heaved the door towards him.

A sharp explosion of pain in his right forearm caused him to yelp and try to swing a punch at whoever had hit him. Athos knew it was the attacker. He knew the man had duped him. Tricked him into thinking that he had gone outside when he was standing in the shadow of a stone stairway. Athos cursed his stupidity as the man tried to swing his improvised weapon a second time. The man managed to knock Athos’ gun from his hand. He could hear the weapon sliding away, out of reach. His next move was to wrench his sword from his belt. Athos knew his movements were slow. He was struggling with the pain in his arm. He was sure no bones were broken, but he was distracted by the pain that radiated out. 

The man swung the lump of wood again, catching Athos on the left shoulder and jaw. He was knocked to the ground. The force was enough to leave him unable to gather his thoughts for several seconds. He tried to coordinate his limbs but could not get any part of his body to do what he wanted it to. 

He took a breath intending to shout out. But the man anticipated the move and punched him. Athos slumped to the ground. He fought to stay conscious. He tried to talk to the man but only managed to mumble at him. 

He was aware of the man jostling him about and moving his body. Athos tried to push the man off but could not. His vision blurred. 

The man grabbed him around the shoulders causing him to gasp in pain. He was aware of being dragged. He tried to get his feet under him. He tried to twist away. Tried to grab hold of something to stop the man from moving him. His body refused to cooperate. 

As his vision became foggier, he was aware of being dragged over something uncomfortable. 

Athos wondered if it would be better if he passed out. Rather than endure whatever was to come unable to fight back.


	8. Chapter 8

Porthos pushed Aramis' hands away for the second time, as he tried to get his doublet free of the two rusty nails.

‘Go after Athos,’ urged Aramis.

‘Keep still,’ commanded Porthos, ‘or you’ll end up with more than just a ripped doublet.’

In the end, he had to push his friend firmly to the side to pull the doublet free. The nails had scratched across his already abused back in the process.

‘That’s probably ruined the pattern,’ said Porthos with a wry smile.

Aramis nodded with a sigh, ‘what a shame. Now, help me up. I want that man caught.’

Porthos held out his hand to ease Aramis up. His friend remained steady despite his dishevelled appearance. His torn doublet was covered in dust and detritus and he had a cut visible through his open shirt. Unlike the scratches to his back, the cut on his chest was deeper and bleeding. It was not serious enough to stop his friend from moving off in pursuit of the attacker and Athos. They had disappeared a couple of minutes before. A loud bang and a couple of noises which they guessed were from outside was their only clue to what had happened. 

They did not attempt to be quiet as they ran to the back of the warehouse and found the large double door. The wind was whistling through an assortment of gaps in the wood that made up the doors. Rainwater was seeping under the door, they could hear the wind and rain outside. Porthos reached for the handle of the door. Before he could pull the heavy-looking door towards him, Aramis grabbed his arm. His friend pointed at the ground a few feet away before stepping forward. He scooped something up. 

‘Athos’ weapons,’ said Aramis, ‘he would not have parted from them without a fight.’

They looked at each other for a second before scanning the area. Porthos searched the area under the stone steps. He fumbled about in the dim light, only finding a few old sacks. Aramis had scouted the way they had come, looking all around him as he went.

An ominous creek made both men look up. A sprinkle of dust caught the light. Dust motes sparkled as they fell. 

Porthos turned to the stairs, he pulled his gun as he ascended with care. The stone was crumbling in places, much like the rest of the building. He was aware of Aramis behind him. 

The further up the steps they went the more noises they could make out above them. The first floor was higher than normal buildings. It seemed to take an eternity to get to a point where they could peer over the floor. 

The man was talking in a tongue that made no sense to Porthos; he could not even pick out the odd word. He knew a few words in most of the languages spoken by regular visitors to the city. What the man was saying was not like anything he would recognise. He glanced at Aramis, who spoke well in several languages. His friend shook his head; he had no comprehension. 

The man had his back to them; he was kneeling over Athos. Their friend was lying on his front; he had been stripped and restrained. He was facing away from them, not moving. Two heavy tables had been used to tie Athos’ wrists and ankles, his body taught between them. 

The man looked upwards raising the dagger he continued to speak. The words sounded as though they were a recitation. He traced a pattern into the air with the point of the dagger as he spoke. Porthos glanced at Aramis, who was watching wide-eyed. Porthos realised his friend was shaking. He nudged Aramis who looked at him, fear in his eyes for several seconds. 

‘That’s what he was saying when he was cutting me,’ he whispered.

The man looked down at Athos when he groaned. It took their friend a few seconds to come around. The attacker continued to look down at him, the dagger held in his hand. As Athos came to his senses, he pulled at the restraints. A natural reaction which seemed to excite the man. Athos tried to talk the watching Musketeers realised their friend was gagged. 

More recitation followed, interspersed by mumbled complaints from Athos. The man began repeating one phrase over and over. 

Porthos and Aramis climbed to the top of the stair the man did not react to them. They had not been quiet; the man must have known they were there. Aramis levelled his gun at the man and took a few steps forward.

‘Put the dagger down,’ he said with a firm voice. 

Porthos circled the man and Athos, his own weapon ready.

The man was holding the dagger over Athos’ back. He was holding the handle with both hands; the blade pointed down. 

‘I have to finish,’ said the man, his French accent perfect. ‘I have to finish the pattern for my mother. She would make the pattern. She would put it on cloth… But I don’t have that cloth. When she went all the cloth disappeared. My Father didn’t make the pattern...’

‘Finish it later,’ said Aramis, ‘put the dagger down.’

The man looked at Athos, his arms started to shake.

‘If I finish the pattern she’ll come back. I don’t need him, he left me. But Mother will come back…’

‘You’ve already hurt enough people,’ said Porthos. ‘Let our friend go.’

The man looked at Porthos and shook his head.

‘My mother never got to finish the pattern. Father told her to stop but she hadn’t finished…’

Porthos glanced at Aramis who shrugged; the man was not making any sense. Porthos guessed the man thought he made sense. 

‘Father didn’t want me when Mother went… Nobody wanted me… If I finish the pattern they’ll want me and Mother will come back.’

He went back to looking at Athos who was pulling at the rope on his wrists.

‘I’ll finish the pattern and then it will be the end. We can be together.’

He lowered the dagger towards Athos with careful movements. Athos struggled in vain against the ropes. 

‘No,’ said Aramis. ‘Put the dagger down, or we’ll have to hurt you.’

The man paused the dagger was only a few inches above Athos. He twisted to look at Aramis. 

‘Like Father used to hurt me? Like he hurt her? Then I might be with Mother again…’

The man looked unfocused, his green eyes wide and wild. A slight smile played across his lips. He turned back to Athos and raised the dagger high above his head before bringing it down fast. 

Porthos fired at the same moment that Aramis did. Both shots found their mark. The dagger dropped from the man’s limp hands. It landed on Athos, slicing his flesh but leaving nothing more than a scratch. 

The man slumped to the side and pushed himself onto his back. He coughed a few times, blood mixed with each exhalation. He stared up at the ceiling for a few seconds before raising one hand and tracing a pattern with his finger. 

Porthos and Aramis moved forward. Porthos grabbed the dagger and moved it well out of reach of the man. The injuries he had received would prove fatal, but it would take a few minutes. They kept a watch on the man as they leaned over Athos.

‘Athos,’ said Aramis, as he pushed his fingers through his friend’s hair searching for any bumps. 

Athos mumbled at them through the gag. Porthos pulled the rag away from his friend’s mouth. Athos coughed a couple of times. 

‘Is he dead?’ Athos asked, his voice hoarse. 

Porthos glanced at the man who was still tracing lines in the air, his movements becoming slower. 

‘He will be,’ said Aramis, who was busy tugging at the knots that were keeping their friend captive. ‘Did he hurt you?’

Athos managed to shake his head, ‘knocked me about a bit… tried to break my arm.’

Porthos looked at Athos’ right arm, bruising covered most of his forearm. There were marks and grazes across his shoulder and face. His friend had been lucky the injuries were minor compared to what could have happened to him. They knew Athos was enjoying a brief spell of energy before the assault caught up with him.

A few mumbled words from the dying man made Porthos look at Aramis who was watching the attacker. The man’s arm had flopped to the floor only his finger was tracing the pattern with slow movements. His breathing had become erratic.

‘Aramis,’ said Athos as Porthos helped him to pull his right arm towards his body, ‘see to him. I am not seriously hurt.’

Aramis looked at Athos for a few seconds before nodding and moving off, pulling his cross loose as he went. Porthos watched him kneel by the man and speak in a quiet voice. Aramis was making his own recitations of Christian prayers. 

Porthos continued to liberate Athos who was struggling to coordinate his movements. After untying his ankles and helping him to sit up, Porthos grabbed the messy pile of clothing that had been left in the dust. Athos allowed Porthos to help him to dress, his movements to slow and pain-filled to complete the task alone. 

They watched as Aramis crossed himself and closed the dead man’s eyes with reverence. He turned to look at them.

‘I have no idea what he was saying,’ he said, ‘but he seemed to be at peace.’

‘A shame he had to kill and hurt people before finding that peace,’ said Athos before coughing a few times.

He waved Porthos away as he settled his breathing.

‘I do not like to cause a fuss when I have been injured,’ said Athos. ‘But I would appreciate some of your potions to ease the pain in my arm.’

Aramis managed a smile and nodded.

‘And you need those cuts looking at,’ said Porthos with a nod towards Aramis’ torn and tattered clothes. 

MMMM

Athos insisted they return to his rooms rather than the garrison. He knew their assorted injuries would be noticed and questions would be asked. The fewer people knew about their investigation the better. Porthos returned to the garrison to update Treville. He would collect what they would need to deal with the injuries Athos and Aramis had received.

‘I think,’ said Athos as he watched Aramis stiffly crouch by the hearth to set the fire, ‘that I can fully appreciate the fear you must have felt.’

Aramis glanced up at him with a sad smile.

‘I have been scared before,’ Athos continued, ‘but after he had managed to knock me senseless, I felt so vulnerable. I could not stop him. It was only the knowledge that you and Porthos would find me that kept me from panicking.’

‘You were lucky we didn’t leave the building. We thought that’s where you’d both gone. If we hadn’t seen your weapons lying on the floor we might not have realised you were still in the warehouse.’

‘I knew you would come,’ reiterated Athos.

He watched Aramis feeding the flames for a while. 

‘I wonder what he thought he was doing,’ pondered Aramis as he eased himself up to sit in the chair opposite Athos. ‘It was something to do with his mother…’

‘I doubt we will never know,’ said Athos. 

They looked up as Porthos pushed his way into the room. He carried Aramis’ medical bag and a bundle of bandages.

‘Captain’s given you two days leave. Then, depending on how you are doing light duties within the garrison,’ Porthos said with a nod towards Athos.

Aramis was about to push himself up to stand but stopped when he saw Porthos glaring at him. He settled back in the chair. Athos hid a smile.

‘You were injured as well, remember,’ said Porthos. ‘Not as bad, but it still needs looking at.’

Aramis acquiesced, he leant back in the chair with care. Athos knew Aramis was trying to hide how much the injuries were still affecting him. And running through the warehouse would not have helped.

As Porthos dealt with their injuries, Athos noted the grim expression on his face. 

‘What is the matter with you?’ he asked. 

Porthos paused his work. He had been helping Aramis to clean the fresh cut to his side from the rusty nails. Aramis took the cloth and continued to clean the wound as Porthos sat back on his heels. 

‘I went to visit Marie,’ he said. ‘That’s why I took so long getting back here.’

Athos glanced at Aramis, who was watching his friend. 

‘She’s spoken to some of the other older people in the Court,’ continued Porthos. ‘She’d found out a bit more about… him.’

Porthos paused, he sighed.

‘We know he had a difficult upbringing,’ said Aramis. ‘How much worse can it be?’

‘The mother, she was the one that was still a pagan. From what the people remember, the father didn’t know until they moved to Paris. She continued to practice, worshipping all manner of gods and deities. He didn’t approve. He beat her. Frequently.’

Porthos looked away, anger on his face. 

‘He didn’t understand her practices. So he beat her. Pathetic.’

‘What about their son?’ asked Aramis.

‘He saw it all and was on the receiving end as well. He was already different. His mind seemed to work strangely. He spoke strange words. The mother didn’t understand him all the time. They’re fairly sure the father killed the mother. And the boy witnessed it. The pattern was ancient. It was what the mother would use to print on the material she sold. Marie said that she was working when her husband killed her. The son liked to watch her work. He liked to see the pattern finished…’

Porthos trailed off; he closed his eyes for a few seconds. 

‘When the mother was killed,’ said Aramis, ‘she was working and didn’t finish printing the pattern… The son needed to see it finished.’

‘Due to his insanity,’ concluded Athos. 

Porthos nodded, ‘that seems to be it.’

Athos tried not to imagine what the son had gone through. He remembered the man’s confused words before he was shot. He had talked about finishing the pattern and a reunion with his mother. 

‘Why did he cut people?’ asked Aramis. ‘How is that the same as his mother printing on fabric?’

Porthos was slow to respond; he looked at them each in turn.

‘They couldn’t answer that for certain,’ he said, ‘but, the rumour was that the father had cut the mother as she lay dying. He had beaten her and then he cut her, tracing the pattern she used onto her skin.’

‘And the boy saw him do it?’ asked Aramis.

‘That’s the rumour.’

They were all silent again. Porthos returned to his ministrations, dressing the fresh wounds on Aramis' side. Athos mused over what they had learned. He concluded that the insanity the boy suffered had remained with him into adulthood. 

Aramis was thinking along the same lines, ‘do you think he managed to carry on for some time? Pretending to be normal and then couldn’t pretend anymore. The horror of what he had seen and been the victim of spilt out?’

‘Perhaps, his memories of the murder were confused in his mind,’ suggested Athos.

‘I think,’ said Aramis, ‘that I can have sympathy for him… but…’

Athos continued for him, ‘but what he did, to you, and that lad, and to those two women-’

‘-and to you, Athos,’ said Porthos.

‘And to me,’ Athos agreed, ‘he was insane. I will not mourn his death.’

Aramis was quiet, his fingers on his cross, he stared into the distance. 

‘He is at peace now though,’ Aramis said, ‘and we know he can’t harm anyone else now.’

They could agree on that point. Aramis had said the man seemed calm in his final minutes. He had expressed a wish to be with his mother. As he lay dying, he might have believed he would be joining her in death. Athos did not like the tragic waste of life of the two women and the man - their killer. 

The doctor's words echoed in his head. If the insanity had been noted early enough, the man could have incarcerated for his own good. If that had happened the attacks and murders would not have happened. Aramis would not have injured. 

His friend would take a while to regain his confidence. Outwardly Aramis was pretending he was fine. Athos was sure that doubt about the men he met would always be at the back of his mind. In some ways, it was a good thing that Aramis would be even more careful. But, Athos did not like to see even that one small fraction of his friends' gregariousness tempered.

Athos watched Porthos finish cleaning up the cut on Aramis’ chest. He looked at his arm which was tucked into a sling. The balm that he had rubbed across the large bruises was already helping to ease the discomfort he was in. 

‘I’ll buy us a pie each from across the road,’ said Porthos as he tidied away Aramis’ medical bag. 

Porthos left them they could hear his firm steps as he descended the stairs. 

‘What?’ asked Aramis.

Athos realised that Aramis had been looking at him. He had been lost in thought.

‘I meant what I said earlier when we argued. I do think you take risks. I understand why you do it… Please be more careful in the future.’

Aramis huffed out a laugh, ‘believe me, Athos,’ he said, ‘I will be extra careful in future. I do not want to end up in that position again… At least, not unless it’s with someone I trust.’

Aramis grinned, Athos smiled back. A moment of levity amongst all the horror they had witnessed, and been victim of, during the last day was welcome.

The grin on Aramis’ face faded as he stared off into the distance for a few seconds.

‘Although,’ he said, ‘I’m not going to be seeking anyone's company until the scratches he put on me have faded. I don’t want to have to explain them…’

Athos could understand. His friend had been deeply affected by the attack and would not want to relive it constantly. 

‘Perhaps,’ said Athos, ‘a little abstinence will make it more… enjoyable… when you feel confident enough to return to seek out companionship from others.’

Aramis looked at the flames for a few seconds. He nodded.

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for the lovely comments and kudos. 😊

**Author's Note:**

> I ran this chapter through an editing website called 'Hemingway'. I am curious if doing so has helped or hindered my style of writing. I was not sure if I agreed with some of its suggestions (I did ignore a few!). I would be interested in your opinions - thanks.


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